Welcome to SKU
by jhoom
Summary: When Castiel starts school at South Kansas University, he somehow gets it in his head that it's a good idea to join a fraternity. Okay, so maybe he was slightly motivated by the handsome guy with freckles he'd seen at the sign up table. And maybe he thinks it's kinda hot when that guy tells him what to do, even if it's a bit embarrassing.
1. Day One: Saturday

**AN:** Based on a set of very nsfw gifs which I can't really link through here, but if you see the tumblr version of my posts I'll link them when they're relevant to the story (tumblr = jhoomwrites). The story will get to its nsfw portions in due time and tags will be updated accordingly.

Let me preface this whole thing by saying I know nothing about how fraternities or sororities work. My knowledge of them is based completely on TV/movies and second hand stories. So with that in mind, I made up both a school and a fraternity to make it clear that I'm not trying to talk about any specific institution. This is all make believe.

(Side note: I also do not approve of hazing in general, but after I saw that post I could *not* get it out of my head. It fucking *demanded* to be written)

I should mention that because there is some sex involved under the umbrella of hazing, I want to make it clear that although it could be viewed as dub-con, it is *not*. I have the characters explicitly state at the beginning that they do not have to do anything they don't want to, and Cas is aware of that fact the whole time. It's really more of a sub/dom dynamic, I think, under the guise of hazing. Main point: everything is consensual.

One final note - I fluctuate between referring to the characters in this story as boys, young men, and men. Cas is 18 at the start of this fic, Dean is 20. As someone older than that, I have no issue calling anyone under 26 a kid nor do I have issues with referring to them as adults, either. But I figured it wouldn't hurt to point out that no one in this story is underage.

* * *

What possessed Castiel to join a fraternity, he still doesn't know. If he has to put the blame somewhere, it would be on his older brother for teasing him so much. Claiming he'd be too awkward and socially inept to make any new friends when he started college. That he'd probably just barricade himself in his room or some corner of the library, spending four years of his life buried in books and essays and internet databases.

So when he walks through the quad and sees tables from various clubs trying to recruit new members, he picks one seemingly at random and signs up. (It isn't completely random, truth be told. One of the guys at the table is rather handsome. Okay, very handsome. Hot, even. And maybe Castiel wanders over in spite of himself to try and talk to him. The opportunity doesn't present itself, but Castiel writes his name down with the off chance that he'll see the handsome man with freckles again.)

The whole thing feels a bit empowering, a nice fuck you to his older brother specifically and the expectations of his family and friends in general. It isn't until he gets back to his dorm room that he reads over the pamphlet he picked up and realizes he'd more or less joined the school's biggest fraternity.

Sigma Sigma Beta is South Kansas University's oldest and most fraternity. They have housed thousands of student athletes and scholars over their prestigious tenure. While offering a chance for like minded young men to come together, Sigma Sigma Beta encourages community service and leadership among all its members.

It goes on to describe the frat house, some of their recent community outreach projects, and even has a list of well-known graduates. All in all, it sounds promising. So he shrugs and figures why not, he could deal with the week of pledging he's basically just committed himself to.

Which is how he finds himself in a line of hopeful pledges, all looking nervously at each other and trying not to fidget too much as they wait. They were greeted briefly upon entering the frat house, told to wait in the rather large communal living space while their future frat brothers discuss what to do with them. There's a healthy mix of nervous and cocky young men in their group, and Castiel isn't exactly sure where he fits in that mix.

Before he can ponder it too long, he's interrupted when a group of older boys joins them. There are five in all, to go along with the twenty or so pledges that have been quietly whispering amongst themselves. To Castiel's disappointment, the freckled man isn't part of either group.

One of young men steps forward - the oldest, Castiel guesses - and clears his throat a bit before addressing them. "Mornin'. Name's Benny. I'm president of this here chapter. Now, I don't know how much they've told you about what to expect this week, but I'm gonna lay it out for ya. This is pledge week, affectionately called Hell Week by me and my fellow brothers who have moved far enough past it to look back on it fondly.

"We'll be breaking y'all up into five groups, each under the direction of one of your future brothers. At the end of the week, they'll let me know if they think you make the cut. Their recommendation ain't everything, but I wouldn't go around pissin' any of 'em off. And let me make this clear: for the next week, we own you. One of us tells you to jump, you'd best be asking how high. We'll start you off easy, but you just be ready for it to get hard quick.

"These here," and he gestures to the four men standing off to the side, "are the guys y'all need to look to. There's Gordon, Aaron, Victor, and Crowley." As their names are rattled off, each nodding or waving ever so slightly. Castiel feels a little ill at ease when he sees the glint in Gordon's eyes, the predatory way he looks at them. It isn't much better when Crowley winks at them before licking his lips. He hopes, prays, that he'll end up with Aaron or Victor. "We also got one more comin', but Deano ain't exactly the most punctual of us."

They're unceremoniously divided up into five groups, standing at attention while the frat brothers walk around to pick which one they want. Benny graciously says he'll take over for Dean until he shows up. It's a genuinely uncomfortable experience, being looked at as though they're cattle. Gordon in particular keeps eyeing him and he really is second guessing the wisdom of this decision.

"Dean's got this group," drawls out Benny, effectively getting rid of Gordon's unwanted attention.

"He's not even here-"

"Don't care. He's got these ones."

Relief fills Castiel at hearing that. Until he realizes he doesn't know anything about this Dean except that he tends to be late. He could very well beworse than Gordon or Crowley. Well, if things get bad, he reminds himself, he could always just quit. While not ideal (even though he hasn't yet mentioned this little plan to his family, he's sure he would still feel embarrassed at its failure), it's always an option.

The groups have just finished being divided up when the front door slams shut and a young man rushes in. "Sorry, sorry! Family stuff, but it's taken care of. Did I miss it?"

Castiel's breath catches in his throat, excitement replacing his earlier apprehension. It's Freckles from before, at the sign up table. The cute one that had started this whole thing to begin with. And if he was attractive before, he's absolutely radiant with his messy hair and hap-hazardly done up shirt. With barely contained hope, he eagerly waits to hear what he so desperately wants to be true.

"Nice of you to show up, Winchester."

"Nearly missed the good part."

"Need to buy a fucking watch, man."

"Brother." Benny reaches out to pull the other man into a hug. "No worries, we've got it all squared away for ya. This here 'll be your group of pledges for the week." He nods their way before addressing Castiel's small group. "This here is Dean, he's in charge of y'all."

Dean smiles and waves shyly as he looks each of them over. His gaze goes right past Castiel and then he immediately does a double take. Dean's eyes wash over him and Castiel would swear Dean actually licks his lips, but it happens so quickly it's completely plausible that he imagined it.

He almost doesn't notice how Dean looks to Benny in surprise, eyebrows upturned in question. The other man just shrug with just the barest upturn of his lips. He pats Dean on the shoulder and whispers something that has Dean blush brightly. It's admittedly a very attractive look on him.

"Alright boys, get 'em started."

They break off into their smaller groups, each taking over a corner of the living room. Clearly unimpressed with that idea, Dean waves them through the kitchen and into the backyard. Being out in the early afternoon sun and a gentle breeze make this whole day all the more surreal. They've been divvied up like brand new toys, which in some ways isn't all that inaccurate. Now they stand at attention in a semi-circle, Dean walking around them with a skeptical look.

Apparently he likes what he sees because he has a goofy little grin on his face when he finally stops his inspection and stands in front of them. Swinging his arms up and clapping them together like he just cannot wait to get started, he licks his lips again. "We're gonna have some fun, boys, let me tell you. You're gonna sleep well tonight cuz I'm gonna wear you out." He winks at them and Castiel tries not to shiver. "Tomorrow will go a lot easier if I tire you out first."

He starts slightly as if remembering something important and shakes off the cocky little persona he'd been wearing. His earlier smirk gives way to a serious look. "Oh, hey, I don't know how much Benny already explained but it never hurts to go over this a couple times. We're gonna push you guys pretty hard. That's kinda the whole point. But you do not have to do any of the shit we come up with. If it's too hard or we just push a little too far, do not hesitate to let us know. Seriously. This is just supposed to be in good fun. If I ask you to do something you can't do, don't do it. Simple as that. It will not effect whether or not I recommend you to Benny. We clear on that?"

There was a weak mumble of agreement.

"Uh, I'm sorry but I didn't fucking hear you. We clear?"

"Yes!" they chant in unison, a little louder than earlier.

"Okay, sounds like we're only getting half of the idea." The seriousness shifts back into a smug smile. It's the only clue that they're back to playing their earlier game. "I still own your asses for the week, so I'm gonna need you to show me a little more respect than that. So, I will ask you one more time. We clear?"

They hesitate a moment before answering in a crisp, "Yes, sir!"

Dean practically beams at them. "Much better. Let's go run some laps."

He was not been joking about tiring them out. It feels more like boot camp than anything else. Hours after hours of running laps, doing burpees, jumping jacks, and push-ups until their muscles burn, all the while waiting for Dean or one of the other frat brothers to scream out "AIR RAID!" and have them falling flat on the ground and covering their heads.

"I fucking love that movie," Dean laughs out as he pops open a beer and toasts Aaron.

It's surprisingly intense, but Castiel bears it with all the grace he can muster. He spent four years on his high school track team, so things are hardly as rigorous as they could be. One of the other boys in his group - Kevin, if he heard the name correctly - is having a lot more trouble trying to keep up. The poor guy probably hasn't run more than two miles together his whole life and it's really starting to show in the way he's falling behind the rest of the group.

True to his word, though, Dean takes the kid off to the side and talks to him in a hushed voice. Castiel tries to keep an eye on what's going on as he continues his laps around the frat house (luckily only once delayed by Benny's all too pleased, "AIR RAID!"). He does see Dean pat the kid on the back before forcing two bottles of water into him and making him sit in the shade for a solid half hour with a bag of chips. The rest of the day, he notices that the intensity of their workout doesn't change much, but Dean seems to modify it a bit for Kevin and regularly check in with him.

(Great, Castiel thinks to himself. Handsome AND sweet. I am so fucked.)

Some time in the early evening, all five groups file back into the house, drenched in sweat and smelling pretty rank. Castiel's breathing's heavy as he tries to calm his heart back down from the suicide runs Victor insisted everyone do. (In a show of solidarity, the older frat boys did them too, but they aren't nearly as tired - it ended up being four of them trying to outrace each other. Crowley did not participate.)

He feels eyes on him, that phantom itch of being watched, and looks around only to find Dean starring him down. There's something about it that should made him a bit uncomfortable - if Gordon were to look at him with that kind of hunger, he's sure it would make his skin crawl - but all it does is make his pulse even more erratic. They hold each other's gaze for a moment before Dean gives him a wink and turns away.

(Yep. Definitely fucked.)

Benny walks in, shaking hands or patting the backs of his brothers. "How'd they do?"

"They're tired as fuck," Victor laughs out.

That gets an answering chuckle from Benny, who looks them over. "That they are. Alright boys, go back to your dorms, get yourselves a nice dinner and a hot shower. And a good night sleep, cuz tomorrow ain't gonna be any easier."

The way he says it promises that it would, in fact, be worse.


	2. Day Two: Sunday

**AN:** next update probably won't be tomorrow (only just started it, but it's a shorter one) but hopefully soon :)

i'm open to suggestions on hazing activities to put in the background (i have my main ideas, but some extras wouldn't hurt)

* * *

His body's a little sore when he wakes up the next morning, but it's nothing he can't handle (though he doesn't relish the idea of repeating the previous day's activities, nor putting himself through a whole week of this kind of physical torture). The stiffness got him up earlier than planned, and with his morning routine done, he decides to head back to the frat house.

The front door's unlocked, which he's starting to suspect is the norm given how many people come and go on a daily basis. No one's in the entryway or living room, so Castiel follows his nose to the kitchen. There's the lingering smell of bacon and coffee, but he thinks he missed whoever was eating until Dean steps out from the pantry.

This is simultaneously the best thing and the worst thing that could happen.

"Morning." Dean's sipping his coffee, maybe not quite awake yet if the bags under his eyes mean anything.

"Good morning." A pause as he considers where he is. Doing his best to hide a devilish grin, he adds, "Sir."

Dean nearly chokes on the coffee but his eyes light up. "What's your name again? Castiel, right?"

"Yes, sir."

Dean's eyes track of the movement of his lips as he answers. "That's quite the mouthful, Castiel. You got something shorter?"

He winces. "My brother calls me Cassie."

"Sounds like you don't like that nickname."

"No, I don't." Another pause. And very deliberately, just to see if Dean enjoys it as much as he thinks he does, he adds another, "Sir."

Dean's smile is blinding. "You're a good boy, aren't you, Castiel?"

He can't help lick his lips. He likes the way his name sounds in Dean's mouth. "Yes, sir. Of course, sir."

They're interrupted from... well, from whatever the hell they're doing by the front door opening loudly. Some of the other boys start trickling in with Aaron and Benny. Dean shifts uncomfortably, taking particular care in how he angles his crotch toward the island and away from the entrance. Castiel does his best to pretend he doesn't notice.

(Okay, so maybe he sneaks a look back at Dean before following the rest of the group out to the backyard. And maybe Dean grimaces a little, his knuckles white where he grips the edges of the counter, before he follows stiffly behind them.)

The others file in over the next couple minutes. For the late comers, the frat brothers talk loudly about who they think's dropped out already and who's just dog tired. Nine o'clock hits and it turns out only one guy's unaccounted for. Aaron and Victor whisper loudly that he's one of Victor's and that's "not a big fucking surprise, is it?"

A couple of the pledges are sent in to drag out these large boxes. Which is when they're asked, without preamble, to strip down to their boxers.

("Or your briefs or your panties, we're not here to judge."

"I just hope none of y'all are going commando. Be a little awkward for all involved.")

Dean comes around and collects their things, tossing them unceremoniously in a bag, before dumping them on the back porch. The five of them whisper a bit before coming to a decision and laughing loudly. Apparently Crowley won since he's the one who steps forwards.

"Alright, darlings. You did so well yesterday, we decided we needed to liven things up. These here," and the others start opening the boxes, "are donations from the lovely sisters who live next door. Each year they run a clothing drive, bless their charitable hearts, and give us some of the leftovers in exchange for our help with the heavy lifting. You all get to reap the benefits of that transaction."

By now they're being handed a lump of clothing. Castiel has a sinking feeling about what's happening, and as the boys ahead of him start unfolding their wrinkled bundles, those suspicions are confirmed. And then Dean's shoving a pink garment at him, his eyes bright with mirth. "This'll really show off those legs." And he winks just as Castiel unfurls it enough to see it's a skirt.

A very, very short skirt.

"Get dressed, lads."

Most of the other guys have been given something similar. Skirts, halter and tube tops, dresses. All in very feminine colors or patterns. They all seem to be aggressively tight, too, not meant for their broad shoulders. (Except for Kevin, who looks damn near adorable in a pastel green sleeveless dress that fits him probably better than its original owner. Go figure.)

Castiel's mini-skirt, though just a touch this side of snug, isn't terrible. Hell, it might even be flattering if not for the way his boxer briefs peak out. The color's not what he would have chosen. Not because it's pink, mind you - he has a "salmon" colored button down hanging in his closet back in his room that he has no problem wearing (or admitted that it is, in fact, pink). It's more that this particular shade doesn't look good contrasted against his tan skin.

Oh well. The point of this exercise isn't about looking good. It's about humiliation. Or possibly finding out what type of character you possess in the face of humiliation.

Before he can muse too long about it, there's a whistle blowing. They're all herded out into the neighborhood, their laps no longer limited to the frat's grounds but it now weaves between the other houses belonging to the various Greek life, clubs, and sports teams. It must be a well-known tradition of Sigma Sigma Beta, because all along the route there are co-eds camped out on their front lawns with a mix of water balloons and squirt guns filled with gatorade. They're drenched after the first block, but the cheers and heckles only goad Castiel on.

If they think this is going to embarrass him, well, they're about eighteen years too late. He'll just have to send Gabriel a thank you card for being the most obnoxious older brother in existence.

Three of them finish the run together, well ahead of the rest of the pledges. Their reward is that they get sent back to do it again, this time with the warning that they'd all better show up at the same time or they'd keep getting sent out in waves. Taking it to heart, they sprint to catch back up with everyone and corral them so they can arrive together.

For the first time since starting this whole thing, Castiel can actually feel the burn in his legs. It doesn't help that the skirt restricts his running so much that he ends up hiking it over his waist so he can move freely. He forgets about it, in all honesty, until he sees Dean motion him over while everyone else is collapsing on the ground, panting heavily.

"You don't like your skirt?"

"Oh!" He pulls it back into place. It's stained red and blue from the gatorade, probably got stretched out from the water, too, but he tries his best to feel dignified. "I like it very much." Then a blush as he remembers himself. "Sir."

"Picked it out just for you." There's a bit of embarrassment behind the forced bravado, the almost flirtatious words.

Okay, so there's a lot going on that requires him to read between the lines. Make a few assumptions and hope that he's not totally off base. The balance he's trying to strike between showing he's interested (because hell yeah he's interested) and not scaring Dean off. With all of that in mind, he goes with a coy, "Thank you for thinking of me, sir. I appreciate it."

It must be the right approach, because the barely there tension relaxes instantly and Dean's smile is that much brighter. "Oh, don't worry." He takes a step into Castiel's space, drops down an octave and his whisper is barely audible, "I'll be thinking about you quite a bit."

Before he gets a chance to reply, Castiel is being physically pushed over to the curb by one of the other pledges. There are a bunch of buckets full of suds and sponges, a line of dirty cars on either side of the street. Washing the brothers' cars is next on the agenda, each group given a few cars. Although they've only really met five of the Sigma Sigma Beta brothers, there are ten others who live in the house and several dozen others members. Most of them have dropped off their cars for them to clean.

Castiel and another young man from his group are about to start on a red Civic when Benny gets his attention.

"Castiel, right?" He waits for the nod of confirmation before continuing. "You mind doing me a personal favor and working on that black one over there?" He points to a muscle car parked carefully in the driveway, away from the crowded street.

"Of course, sir-"

"No need for that sir stuff with me," and he waves dismissively. "Just wash the car as thoroughly as possible, if you wouldn't mind." There's something about the glint in his eyes and the way he's asking that makes Castiel think that he is definitely missing something about the otherwise simple request. "Take your time, too."

An impromptu cookout starts in the front lawn as the initiated brothers grill up some food and tap a keg. Girls from the sorority next door - presumably the ones who donated the women's clothing - join them as well. Lawn chairs are spread out so they can watch the pledges at work, occasional catcalls or teasing reminding them

"Lookin' real good, darlin."

"Wipe those wiper blades!"

"You missed a spot!"

"You're really rocking that dress!"

Some of the guys are annoyed by the attention, clearly letting themselves be rattled by the attention. Some of the others are unfazed, perhaps even enjoying it a bit. Kevin and the other guy working with him even strike a couple poses, much to the delight of the girls sitting nearby. Castiel for the most part ignores it all, focusing on cleaning the car assigned to him. The car is well-loved and well-cared for, that much is obvious, so he feels it necessary to put just as much care into it himself.

The car washing takes a couple hours and by then the cookout is in full swing. After serving a drinks or a few bouts of jumping jacks, most of the frat brothers lose interest in torturing their pledges. Each group is dismissed one after the other, with a warning that they "had better fucking attend all their classes tomorrow" and "needed to show up right at five o'clock because homework was not a fucking excuse to miss Hell Week." Followed by a lowkey promise that they'd only be kept a few hours tomorrow since one of the major pushes of their fraternity was academic scholarship.

Castiel doesn't actually see Dean at any point that evening - Benny took over and sent them home with some burgers and a strict warning not to sneak out any beer (though his pointedly turning away from the cooler tempted most of them to grab a can or two). And yes, it's a little disappointing that his flirting and playing into the (possible) kink Dean seemed to have for the whole authority, power play thing might not be working. But he shakes it off.

(And, okay, it's a little strange but... When he changes back into his clothes, he maybe keeps the skirt. For reasons. So sue him.)

It turns out Kevin's dorm is next to his, so they end up walking back together. They talk about family and their majors and what made them decide to join a frat in the first place.

"Dude, I was the nerdy kid in high school. I don't want to be that in college, too."

Castiel just nods. He wants to say there's nothing wrong with being the nerdy kid, that he can be in a frat and a good student and a nerd and whatever else he wants to be. But the beer he chugged earlier is making his tongue a little numb so he doesn't bother. Besides, if he's being honest... "I'm kind of doing the same thing. I've been accused of not being the most socially adept person, and I thought this might be a good way to try and improve that."

"Oh." They walk a couple more steps. "I kinda thought... you had a more specific reason for joining." He inclines his head in question, and that's all the encouragement Kevin needs to blurt out, "Are you trying to bang Dean?"

"What- No! I- I wouldn't..." He's stopped dead in his tracks, trying uselessly to find words, any words really, to refute the claim. They stare at each other a moment, Kevin completely unimpressed. "Ugh... How'd you know?"

Kevin snorts at that. "I didn't, until you said that." He laughs at Castiel's scowl. "I mean, I didn't know you were into him. But Dean... He was basically eye fucking you when you were bent over his car to clean it. Looked like he was a couple seconds away from hiking up that skirt and bending you over the hood. Dude's not subtle."

Castiel takes a moment to process that information. He remembers Benny claiming his group for Dean, their whispered conversation when he found that out, and then him asking Castiel to wash that car in particular. Well shit. "I... did not realize that was his car," he says as neutrally as possible.

"Would that have mattered?"

"Not in the slightest."


	3. Day Three: Monday

**AN:** I am just having waaay too much fun with this story if I'm getting a third chapter up already. Probably doesn't hurt that I'd originally planned this to be one story (albeit a much *shorter* story, but oh well), so it's all in my head, ready to go.

Thanks to the anons who gave me some suggestions about other hazing examples - I am super excited to include a couple of them ^-^

* * *

His alarm pulls him from a rather pleasant dream. The images are already fading, but he distinctly remembers a skirt, a car, and green eyes. He's tempted for a moment to stay in bed a bit longer and try to chase that dream, but he has a long walk to his first class today so he's better off just getting up. He stretches and he's pleased to find there's no stiffness. Considering the last couple days, he counts that a win.

It's only two weeks into the semester, so his classes aren't particularly rigorous yet. The due dates for upcoming projects and exams are already in his calendar, but he's got some time yet before he feels the pressure. It allows him to go through the day on autopilot, just sort of doing the motions. He pays attention, of course, but in the time between classes he lets his mind drift to some *ahem* fantasies.

So maybe, just maybe, he's a little keyed up by the time he arrives at the frat house in the late afternoon. Almost immediately he's ushered into the kitchen where several of the other pledges are sorting the grocery bags and searching the cabinets.

"We're in charge of dinner tonight," Kevin explains when he sees Castiel. He passes over a recipe, pecan pie with a note on top saying they need to make five.

"What on earth could they possibly need five pies for?"

"It's for the whole house, and that's like twenty guys. I guess they eat a lot. Or just like pie." He shrugs. Either way, it doesn't matter. They're stuck making the pies even if all they do with them is toss them in the trash. "Help me find the ingredients, a bunch of the guys already went shopping."

They manage to get all of their ingredients and cookware, as well as take over a small corner of the kitchen for them to work. All six of them are there within a half hour of each other and they get to work. Except that soon they're all interrupted and forced out into the backyard for roll call.

Dean stares them down, arms crossed in front of him and a tilt to his hips that emphasizes his bowlegs. "Evenin' boys. How are my pies coming along?"

"Good, sir!"

"That's what I like to hear. Alright, here's the deal - y'all know about the cooking and probably guessed that you're going to be serving it too. While that's going on, I'm gonna have some of you guys bringing me drinks and doing other miscellaneous chores." His lips turn up at the corners, a promise that they will probably not like being asked to do any of those 'miscellaneous' things. "But, tradition also dictates that I gotta give you guys nicknames. So let's do this!"

He rubs his hands eagerly. Castiel can hear the boy next to him gulp in apprehension, and Dean must notice too because he reels in his glee just a bit. "Look, I don't wanna be a dick - these names kinda stick for a while unless you actively try to get rid of them. There was this one kid when I rushed that was called Dirk the Jerk. Dude could _not_ shake the name. He's graduated, but he went through four years of that shit first. So I'm gonna make this as painless as possible."

He goes down the line then, looking them up and down before making a show of carefully considering their new names. "Jamie, you are now the Kingslayer. Tacky to copy, I know, but you'll thank me. Kevin, you're now Special K. Make me proud. Alex, enjoy being Tater Tot. Yeah, I fucking saw you grab a bag of them at the cookout yesterday, deal with it. Matthew, you are henceforth known as The Weagle. If you don't like it, you shouldn't've been wearing that Caps hoodie on the first day. Samandriel is a fucking mouthful. We're gonna short that by a million syllables to Alife. You're welcome." He pauses in front of Castiel, making an obvious display of looking him up and down. "And you," he pauses to move in a half step closer and lick his lips. "You're gonna be Pretty Boy."

Without missing a beat, he replies, "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

For a few seconds, Dean's eyes glaze over a bit and he bites his bottom lip. It's fucking hot, and he probably should not be so pleased that he did that.

"Alright then." And yeah, his voice is a bit rougher than it was a few seconds ago. "Get back in the kitchen, boys. Oh, one of you bring me a beer in a bit. Something nice."

They trek back inside. None of them is quite sure what to make of their new nicknames - well, except Samandriel who is bouncing in happiness because it's apparently the first time anyone's called him anything but Samandriel (which is strange, given how long his name is). But then they hear Gordon's group bitching about theirs. Things like Bug Eyes and Upchuck and Ass Attack. Then they all silently agree that Dean's names were by far the less dickish ones.

"Hey, Pretty Boy." It's Kevin, giving him a smile that just screams, 'Told you the dude wasn't subtle.' Castiel just tries not to blush. "Someone's gotta bring Dean his beer. Go grab him something from the fridge."

He doesn't comment, instead grabs the first beer he sees and heads out to the back. He's almost out the door before he realizes he forgot to open it (and it's quite likely Dean will insist he do it for him), so he backtracks for the bottle opener.

Several of the frat brothers are sitting in lawn chairs in the back. A couple are playing on their phones or chatting, and a few have out textbooks or notes. Dean is one of the latter, books stacked next to his chair, a laptop balanced precariously on one of the arms, and a notebook on his knee. He's chewing his pencil as he stares at whatever notes he's looking at, brow furrowed in concentration.

Castiel lets himself admire the view for a moment before he makes his way over, ever mindful of the growing condensation on the bottle that will mark how long he's taken to deliver it.

A few steps away and Dean catches sight of him, lighting up and calling out, "Hey, Pretty Boy!"

He barely suppresses a shiver at hearing it. Strange how when Kevin said it, it was teasing. But rolling off of Dean's lips it's like a caress.

"Here's your beer, sir."

Dean's smile is genuine when he grabs it and takes a long swig. "Thanks." Castiel nods slightly in acknowledgement and starts to head back to the house. "Hey, where you going?"

He freezes in his place, turning to face Dean. "I- I'm sorry, sir, is there anything else I could do for you?"

"Well," he drawls out. "Now that you mention it... These chairs are only so comfortable and I got a lot of studying to do. You mind helping me out?" Castiel just nods, his mouth dry as he wonders how exactly he's going to be supplementing Dean's comfort. "Knew I could count on you. C'mere."

Castiel moves to where Dean indicates, directly in front of him. He spreads his legs a little bit to make room (he nearly has a heart attack because the motion is just so _suggestive_ ) and points to the ground. "I could sure use a foot rest. You look like you'd be pretty comfy."

The heat in his cheeks is overwhelming, but he does as he's told. He gets on his hands and knees in front of Dean, angling his face away so the other man can't see his blush, and waits. Dean shakes off his sandals and puts his feet on Castiel's back, one at a time.

He wiggles in his seat a bit and flexes his legs until he finds a position he likes. Settling in, he grins at Castiel before getting back to his studies.

After a while, his knees start to hurt. He tries shifting his weight onto his hands, but that only helps for a few minutes. What he really needs is a distraction, something to keep his mind off what he's pretty sure is a rock trying to impede itself in his palm and the hard ground underneath him.

Without meaning to, it seems that he and Dean provide that distraction.

"Good idea, bro." Aaron flops down in a nearby chair, a heavily dog-earred book and set of highlighters in hand. "Somebody go find one of my guys, I want a foot stool too."

Dean's feet disappear and he kicks Castiel gently in the ribs. "You heard him, Pretty Boy, go find him a foot stool. Oh, and tell Special K to bring me a beer. You want one dude?" Aaron nods. "Make that two beers. And tell him to wear the pink apron hanging by stove when he comes out."

Relieved to have an opportunity to get up, he follows Deans instructions. He doesn't relish the idea of resuming his position in the back yard (okay, maybe this weird little part of him is very _much_ looking forward to it, but his knees aren't a hundred percent on board), but delaying it might just warrant some sort of punishment.

And fuck, now the idea of Dean _punishing_ him is not helping things.

In the end, the only solution he can see is to face the other direction, letting his knees rest on the grassier side of the chair. Dean's feet have barely touched his back again before Kevin appears with a little tray carrying two beers, wearing the pink apron as requested.

"Here's your beer." Dean grunts expectantly at him, so Kevin tags on a "sir" that sounds a lot like a sigh.

"Watch the attitude, dude, or-"

"You're so unimaginative, Squirrel. What a waste of perfectly good manpower," Crowley grumbles. He walks right up to the empty space between Dean and Aaron's chair, shooing Kevin with a wave.

"I am not your fucking squirrel," Dean snaps, but there's surprisingly little acid behind it. "You got any better ideas? Doesn't look like it-"

Two pledges are carrying over a large recliner, something Castiel thinks he might have seen in the house, which they put down in the shade. Crowley takes a seat, puts up the leg rest, and makes himself comfortable. The two pledges then kneel, one on either side, as a small box is brought over. Dean and Aaron watch, absolutely transfixed, as one pledge takes off Crowley's shoes and starts rubbing his feet while the other one starts giving him a manicure.

"That's... that's actually kind of impressive," Aaron admits. He stares a bit longer and then shrugs, diving back into his book.

Castiel, of course, has a few view of all this since he happens to be facing Crowley's make-shift throne. And he will admit, it is rather impressive. He even gets one of the pledges to put his earbuds in and start up his iPod, placing slices of cucumber over his eyes. Soon gentle snores can be heard over

"Does the dude ever get any work done?" Dean mutters, pulling one of his legs off of Castiel and putting it across his lap as a make-shift desk. "Hope he's not making the pledges do his fucking homework, or I swear to god I'm gonna kick is ass."

"Nah, dude," Aaron says without looking up. "Pledges are freshman, usually. They'd fail his classes. I hear he makes deals with other students, trades with them so they do his work or something."

"What the fuck does he have that anyone would want?"

"No clue, man. It's just what I hear. Plus, he did offer me a hundred bucks for my term paper for British Lit last year."

The conversation dies down after that, though Dean curses a bit more under his breath until he's sufficiently absorbed in his studying. Which is unfortunate since that leaves Castiel with nothing but his thoughts and the slow growing ache in his knees. The fidgeting starts up again, as much as he tries to refrain he can't quite hide it.

"Dude-" Dean pauses, corrects himself, and continues, "Pretty Boy, stand up and take off your shirt."

The suddenness of it shocks him more than the request itself. That must account for the beat of hesitation before he's on his feet and pulling off his faded blue tee. He does have the presence of mind, however, to make sure he pulls it off inch by slow inch. Dean's hooded eyes track its progress as he reveals his abdomen and then chest, grunting in appreciation when the shirt is finally removed and dropped by his feet.

"Anything else, sir?"

"Huh?" Dean swallows thickly, gaze settled on the hair trailing from Castiel's navel down to his shorts. It takes a moment for him to collect himself and process the question. "What? Oh- uh, no." Although flusters, he recovers quickly. "Back to it, then. Make yourself comfortable, Pretty Boy."

Castiel is so hung up on the flush he feels each time Dean uses that nickname that he nearly misses the way Dean emphasizes the word _comfortable_ and looks pointedly at Cas' discarded shirt. It takes him longer than it should to realize what Dean's getting at.

His mouth makes an O of surprise but he says nothing, getting back on the ground but first gently placing the shirt under his sore knees. By no means perfect, the ache is dulled down substantially. He could probably stay like this for, well probably not hours, but much longer than he's already been here.

It takes a while for him to notice it once his mind starts to wander. He comes back to himself at the same moment he feels Dean's foot moving along his bare side. Dean repeats the movement a couple times, an almost there pressure that tickles and makes it impossible to ignore where he is and what he's doing. So he closes his eyes and loses himself in that sensation.

"You like that, Pretty Boy?" Dean whispers. He wants to look around self-consciously to see if anyone else in the backyard heard, but he knows perfectly well that it's just for his benefit.

"Yes, sir." Fuck that sounds like a whimper.

Dean keeps moving his foot, varying pressure on each pass to keep Castiel guessing what's next. And when Dean shifts from his side, he nearly jumps. Now Dean's foot is pressing on the small of his back, toes stretching down to the waistband of his shorts. Dean plays along the line fo his belt, his big toe dipping inside every now and then, but most it's just a teasing touch.

And, fuck it all, Cas can feel himself reacting to it. Getting hard even though there's nothing overtly sexual about what's going on, his mind has no trouble supplying him more ways Dean could be teasing him.

So when Dean's foot drags along the crease of his ass, he nearly yelps.

"You like that?"

He barely has a chance to gasp out, "Yes, sir!" Because then Dean is tracing his foot back up Castiel's ass, along his hipbone, and down to his crotch. And if he jerks slightly into the touch, well, he's only human.

"So responsive," Dean praises and dammit, that's really not helping. Throat dry, he just swallows roughly and nods. Because higher cognitive function is kind of escaping him at the moment. "Mmmm, so good for me. Bet you'd make lots of pretty noises for me if I got you to-"

"Winchester!"

They both jump. Dean guiltily pulls his foot away and looks in the direction of Benny's voice.

"Know you're having fun with your new toy, but I could use your help with something inside before dinner gets started."

"Oh- uh, yeah. Alright, I'll be there in a minute."

"Brother-"

"I said gimme a minute, Benny, geez." His voice is clipped but all Benny does is raise an eyebrow and then head inside. "Guess we'll have to take a rain check," he says as he rubs his hands through his hair. "Why don't you get back to helping with the pies." When Dean stands, he offers Castiel his hand.

He takes it gladly.

They hold on longer than they should, staring at each other hungrily. Yeah, rain check. Definitely.

* * *

 **AN:** *whispers* I'm terrible at nicknames. Haha it's ridiculous because I *originally* meant to include that as a way for Castiel to start being called Cas... but then I realized there's no way Dean would be *that* nice with nicknames. No fucking way.


	4. Day Four: Tuesday

**AN:** This is a weird situation where I'm writing a lot of this story frequently... I don't think I've ever done updates for a story on back to back days, and now I'm already on the fourth... Though I will put out a warning that I don't get to write on weekends pretty much at all, so while I might be able to put something together tomorrow, after that it's unlikely that I'll have a new chapter up until Tuesday.

Anyhoo, tags have been updated to reflect the current chapter. And thanks to those of you making some awesome suggestions - I am *definitely* going to have to incorporate some of them *laughs maniacally*

* * *

The rest of the evening went without incident. Dean seems to avoid eye contact with him, generally, but there's nothing malicious about it. When their eyes do meet a few times, his expression is schooled into neutrality but there's a softness there that makes Castiel's heart ache a little.

They're kicked out of the house pretty early - a few hours to get homework done before they start all over again in the morning. But this time as they're out the door, each of the pledges is handed a piece of paper. It's a copy of their class schedule for the rest of the week (and he really has no idea where or how they even _got_ them, unless one of them works at the registrar), but penciled in during his breaks are times and locations.

Each of them has been assigned a shift each day where they'll have to follow around their frat brother. And probably not in the chummy type of way you'd see in high school where an out of state friend might visit some classes. No, this is more along the lines of "times of day where you will be Dean Winchester's personal slave."

He's not complaining though.

(And he so does _not_ jerk off to the idea later that night after crawling into bed.)

The next day proves to be just that. Castiel's morning classes are back to back until 11 when he's supposed to meet Dean outside the Fine Arts building. He actually has to run to get there on time - it's across campus from his last class and he's pretty sure there'll be hell to pay if he shows up late.

So at exactly 11:15 he screeches to a halt in front of Dean, who barely looks up from his cell phone.

"Good timing," he says before unceremoniously dumping his backpack in Castiel's hands. "So, uhm." Dean looks nervous and won't meet his eyes. Before he can panic too much about what that means, Dean continues. "The thing is, this isn't my rule or anything. It's just something the frat does, but uh... When we're in public together for the rest of the week and you're following me around..." Dean shifts nervously and pulls something from his pocket. "You gotta wear this."

Dean is blushing furiously as he shoves it at Castiel, who accepts without really registering what's going on. He looks down at his hands, turns over the object a couple times to inspect it. It's a collar made of soft, worn leather. Obviously it's been well used over the years. Etched onto one side are the fraternity's Greek letters. He traces each one then looks up at Dean and smiles.

"Help me put it on?"

That seems to help Dean relax. Despite his obvious kink for... whatever it is, exactly, that they've been doing the last couple of days, Dean genuinely seems uncomfortable with some of the frat's traditions. He doesn't want to push too far. But man does he eat it up when Castiel goes along so readily.

Dean puts the collar on, tightening it but leaving enough room that he can easily slide a finger underneath it. The feeling of the leather against his skin is distracting, and not because he notices it each time he swallows or turns his head. No, it's more about what it represents. Sure, it ostensibly shows his commitment to Sigma Sigma Beta and his future brothers. But when he licks his lips as Dean eyes the collar eagerly, Castiel knows it's much more about what he's willing to offer to the older boy.

They walk into the lecture hall and Dean grabs a couple seats in the middle, indicating where Castiel should sit. Castiel makes room for both backpacks and commandeers the seat next to him to adequately do so.

"Blue notebook with a pen slipped in the spiral," Dean instructs. Castiel opens the backpack and finds what Dean needs, handing it to him. "Now, technically when we're in public and you're wearing that, you're supposed to call me sir and all that jazz. But don't worry about it too much if there's no one else nearby."

"Dean, I don't need special treatment-"

"It ain't about that, I promise," Dean answers with a laugh. "As fun as all that is, I _need_ to pass this class and having you call me sir is just gonna distract me."

Castiel hums in pleasure at hearing that, but otherwise does his best to keep out of Dean's way. The lecture starts - it's a lower level psych class, Dean must be trying to get his basic requirements out of the way - and he steadily finds himself immersed in the lesson.

About halfway through, Dean reaches into his back pocket and pulls out some cash which he shoves into Castiel's hands. "Go grab me a drink and a snack, there's a vending machine around the corner," he whispers.

He replies with a "Yessir!" that earns him a playful kick to the ass as he scoots by. Ignoring the glares he receives on the way out and back in (as though he's the first person to ever walk in and out of a lecture, geez), he does as he's told. When he returns to his seat, he wordlessly hands over the bag of chips and Coke.

"Kinda busy taking notes here." And he is diligently copying the current slide in his neat handwriting.

Castiel rolls his eyes and opens both the bag and the soda. Again, he tries to hand them to Dean. The barest trace of a smile on his otherwise serious face gives nothing away until he asks, "Don't think I can write while eating... You'll just have to do it for me."

A playful wink now punctuates his request and Castiel is a mess of, Yes, absolutely, anything you want. As the lecture continues, he feeds Dean the chips one by one and occasionally lifts the soda can up for him to sip from. The whole time Dean goes on taking notes as if this is a regular occurrence for him, but others in the class notice and try to sneak glances. Some of them scowl at Dean and try to give Castiel encouraging looks, as if to show their solidarity with him in his predicament. Others leer and sure, that makes him a little uneasy, but Dean gives them a look. After that, none of it phases him.

The professor, of course, uses them as an example of how outside motivation and group conditioning can result in the hazing traditions seen throughout the country. That garners an nervous laugh from the class and a stupid grin from Dean. Castiel just nods solemnly. If running around a college neighbor hood in a skirt didn't phrase him, he's not going to let a scornful professor do so.

When the class ends, everyone files out. It's free hour and most of the campus will be in the dining hall for lunch. Castiel's supposed to stay with Dean until the end of free hour when he has a class, then he has a short break before he needs to meet up with Dean again. He assumes they're going to head with the rest of the crowd and grab something to eat, but Dean heads off toward the park by the library instead.

Not in a position to argue, he follows.

Dean leads to a patch of grass next to a flower bed and under a particularly large tree. The spot affords them a great view of the small pond. A couple of students sit on the benches on the far side, feeding pieces of bread to the swans and geese they've attracted. All in all, it's not a bad place to enjoy lunch.

Flopping down, Dean heaves a content sigh after he breathes in the smell of grass. "There's a lunch bag in the front pocket. Couple of sandwiches, feel free to take one."

As Castiel easily finds the bag and pulls it out. Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and a bag of cookies - all in all very reminiscent of the types of lunches his mother used to make him in elementary school. He smiles at the memory, digging right in to the first sandwich he gets his hands on.

"Mmmm," he groans appreciatively and then spends a good minute trying to get peanut butter off his teeth. "'s good."

Dean's resting on his back, arms cushioning his head, and watching Castiel eat. "Just PB&J man, nothing special. I just can't stand eating at the dining hall this time of day."

"Well, thank you for sharing your lunch with me."

"Pssh, c'mon. What was I gonna do, let you starve?"

Castiel tosses a sandwich to Dean and they eat together in companionable silence. If it weren't for the way the collar moved against his Adam's apple with each bite, he might even be able to forget the nature of this lunch date.

 _It's not a date,_ he scolds himself. _We're just having lunch. In a park. Like a picnic. By ourselves. Eating food that Dean made for us._

It's totally a date.

He pushes that thought aside. Whatever sexual tension is going on between them does not equate to Dean having any interest in him. No matter how much Castiel might wish that to be the case.

"So, Cas." His head snaps up a bit at the interruption (and at the nickname, but he doesn't comment on that). "What made a guy like you look at a frat like ours and think you wanted a piece of that action?" Dean says it jokingly, but there's a genuine curiosity there.

"I wanted to prove a point to my brother."

"The one that calls you Cassie?"

"Yes, that'd be the one. He says I'm socially awkward and would just spend the entirety of my college career locked up in my dorm room studying."

"So you figured a frat was the best way to stick it to him?"

He shrugs. "Well, I was planning on joining some sort of club. Sigma Sigma Beta's was merely the one that caught my eye." _Or, truthfully, you caught my eye._ But he wasn't going to say that out loud. "What about you?"

Dean sits up and stretches a bit, reaching for the bag of cookies. "I dunno, man. I know Benny from high school and he'd joined the year before. Said it was fun so I tried it out." He smiles around a mouthful of food and it's stupid how endearing he finds it.

The two of them talk for the rest of the free hour. About school and family, then movies and books, the summer job Castiel had and couldn't stand and the 'family emergency' that made Dean late a few days ago. ("Sammy locked himself out of the house. Like that's a fucking emergency, he could've waited the hour it'd take Mom to come home. Fucking kid." Of course his tone is too fond for Castiel to think he means any of the frustration he voices.) The whole thing is... comfortable.

He's reluctant to part with Dean, because whatever they've just been doing is just too good and he doesn't want to dispel the feeling. But he has class. With a shy smile - and how can you be shy in front of a guy whose seen you in nothing but your boxers, ordered you to hand feed him, and that used you as a foot stool - he waves good-bye. His good mood carries through his Spanish class, which is impressive considering he hates the creeper of a professor who hits on all the girls and leers at all the guys.

(Though Castiel has something of a panic attack as he waits outside the physics building for Dean. Because when Dean was just the hot guy in the frat he was joining, someone he was physical attracted to and might hook up with, things were simple. But Dean being sweet and funny and pretty much fucking perfect, that complicates things. Falling for him isn't part of the plan, not by a long shot. Fuck.)

There's a frown on his face when he fears footsteps approaching, but it's (mostly) gone by the time Dean and Kevin stop in front of him.

"Alright, Special K," and Dean starts taking off the collar. "You are relieved of duty."

"Have fun," Kevin says with a look Castiel can't quite parse. He dumps Dean's backpack in his arms before waving and walking off.

"You okay, Cas?"

"Course. We should go in, wouldn't want you to be late to class."

Dean doesn't seem to believe him, but he shrugs. Once the collar's back in place, they head in. Dean heads straight to the back row, right in the center. Despite the size of the lecture hall, the class only appears to have a hundred students in attendance. As he grabs Dean's red notebook for him, he glances at the front cover. Written neat block letters reads PHYSICS 424 - QUANTUM MECHANICS, the sharpie of the last word smeared a bit.

He tries not to look too impressed as he hands it over. And not to worry that the whole thing is going to go over his head. The intro psychology class was bearable mostly because he'd been following the lesson. Now he was in for an hour and a half of feeling inadequate.

Oblivious to Castiel's internal monologue of self-deprecation, Dean thumbs through his notes and lands on a page that already has long, detailed drawings of "wave functions." Dean must notice something, because he flushes a bit and coughs awkwardly. "I uh- I read the textbook for today's lesson. I'm just gonna have to make sure I got it all right."

Hot, check. Nice, check. Smart, check. Dean is Castiel's trifecta of perfect guy. God fucking dammit.

And he's not too proud to admit that he spends the next fifteen minutes pouting. Sure, he tries to pay attention as the professor drones on. But he hasn't taken anything but the basic physics class his high school offered. He's more than a little out of his depth. And Dean? Dean just looks bored. He turns a couple pages, all of them already filled in with notes, and does nothing more than make a few additions.

Castiel's lost in his own head space when he feels a hand settle on his thigh. He buckles down on the urge to jump at the sudden contact, just gives Dean a sideways glance. The other boy doesn't look at him at all, simply watches the lecture as he squeezes Castiel's thigh a couple times and traces circles with his thumb.

He relaxes under the touch. It's a nice distraction. Until Dean's hand is slowly making its way higher and higher up his thigh. He doesn't let up on the gentle way his thumb moves in tandem with the pressure he occasionally exerts. As Dean's hand drifts closer and closer to his crotch, he feels his jeans get tighter and tighter.

"Dean-" he hisses when Dean finally places his hand on the growing bulge. But fuck, he doesn't sound annoyed or surprised. Just _incredibly_ turned on. "The lecture-"

"I could pass this class in my sleep," he mumbles under his breath. "Don't worry about that. You want me to stop, you tell me to stop. Otherwise..."

There's a pause, and Castiel assumes that's his chance to tell Dean to stop. He doesn't (his day has definitely taken a turn, but he is hella on board for whatever's next and there _is no way in hell_ he's going to stop Dean). Then Dean's palming his cock, running his fingers along the length. Yeah, he's fully hard now.

Getting bored of that, Dean expertly undoes his belt and then pulls down the zipper. Castiel's hands clench on the arm rests, knuckles white and nails digging into the metal frame. And isn't that just it - here he is, along for the ride. When Dean's hand dips below the waistband of his boxers and begins to stroke him, he is fucking _lost_.

The only sane, rational corner of his mind left is busy focusing on not being loud. It's a lost cause, whimpers keep escaping before he has the presence of mind to bite his lip. Dean just smiles evilly the whole time, far too pleased with himself. There's a growing pressure in his lower belly and his breathing starts becoming more rapid, all warning him about what's going to happen soon if-

"You do _not_ get to come before I do," Dean growls at him. It's the loudest they've been so far, but they're sitting at least three rows back from the nearest students and no one pays them any mind. "You hear me, Cas? You are _not_ allowed to come."

Castiel whines. No words, merely a wordless plea. But Dean squeezes the base of his cock. There's no argument, he's going to have to do what he's told.

"Sir, please... If you don't stop-"

That earns him a choked groan that Dean cuts off before it gets too loud. The hand on Castiel's cock stops immediately, gripping firmly, and Dean's other hand goes to palm his own cock. "Jesus, Cas, you have any fucking idea what you _do_ to me?"

"No," he replies honestly. The pressure of Dean's hand on him is an anchor he uses to calm down, to get some modicum of control back. His impending orgasm retreats to a reasonable distance, though his cock twitches in annoyance. Dean chuckles a bit, gives a final squeeze before carefully extracting his hand and re-doing his pants.

They manage to carry on like nothing's happened. Like they're two regular dudes attending a class and things are totally normal. And not at all gay. Nope. Nothing to see here.

The lecture ends and students start filing out. Dean and Cas do the same, albeit with less haste than some of the others. They drift close to each other, shoulders nearly brushing the whole time they make their way out of the building. Outside they see Samandriel ready to take over. Dean slows down a bit, leans in close and whispers, "I wasn't fucking kidding, Pretty Boy. You are _not_ allowed to come until I say so. No jerking off without my say so, and I say _no fucking way_. You got that?"

An all too pleasant shiver runs through his body.

"Yes, sir."

* * *

 **AN:** Smart af Dean is a major kink of mine. He doesn't get enough credit for being really smart and I will take every opportunity to make up for that :)


	5. Day Four: Tuesday Evening

**AN:** I meant to dedicate one chapter for each day of pledge week, but apparently more happened on Tuesday than I had originally planned. Who knew? Anyway, this one's a shorter update since I wanna keep it separate from the "Wednesday" stuff. Again, I don't get the chance to write on the weekends so I'll be putting aside this story until next Tuesday.

There's a, uh, incident in this chapter. If people being a little sexually suggestive to uninterested parties makes you go ick, you might want to skip this chapter (or at least the middle part).

* * *

The morning and afternoon are so wonderful that by comparison the evening Cas spends at the frat house is rather dull. Though it is admittedly pretty hard to top getting a handjob in a lecture hall. They're assigned chores to do and all of it's rather mundane. Cook, wash windows, vacuum, mow the lawn. All the pledges have something to do and the frat brothers, too absorbed in their own lives and schoolwork, can only torment them so much.

(And what the hell is wrong with him that he finds that disappointing?)

The only real exception is the added rules of 'don't talk unless spoken to' and 'stay the fuck out of the way.' If they break either of those, they're forced to do jumping jacks or push ups. One of Victor's group shatters a plate while serving dinner and gets to wear a bright purple wig for his trouble. And one of Crowley's guys burns a shirt while ironing it. That gets him five very public slaps on the ass with a cricket paddle.

("Does Crowley even _play_ cricket?"

"He's Scottish."

"Dude, that does _not_ answer my question."

"You really wanna know what Crowley does with that thing? For your sanity, _pray_ that it's cricket.")

The only real annoyance is that he doesn't see Dean most of the evening. It bothers him a little, and he tries not to be jealous of what else Dean might be doing or who he might be spending his time with. And yeah, it distracts him a bit. He drops the broom while he's sweeping and stubs his toe while taking out the trash and nearly uses sugar instead of salt when helping cook dinner.

"Castiel." His head snaps up to the gravelly voice. Benny puts a hand up to answer the unspoken question. "I ain't callin' you that ridiculous nickname and you don't have to sir me right now. I'm just passin' along a request. Dean's gonna be back late because of a study group and night class, but he needs someone to do his laundry and make sure his suit gets to the dry cleaners. You can handle that, can't you, boy?"

He heads upstairs to Dean's room. It's only when he gets to the second floor that he realizes he has no idea which one is actually Dean's. There's no one in sight and even if there were, he's not allowed to say anything to the frat brothers unless he wants to do push-ups (or worse). Which means going downstairs to find Benny and ask (and even if Benny's not into the whole Hell Week the way some of the other brothers are, this level of incompetence would probably warrant a punishment). Either that or peak into each room one by one and _hope_ he can figure out which one is Dean's.

A good five minutes are wasted in indecision. The perfect amount of time for someone to come upstairs behind him and poke him on the shoulder.

"You lost?"

Castiel nearly jumps out of his skin. He turns around quickly to gauge how much trouble he's in.

Oh Fuck.

"No- no, sir. I mean, yes sir. I was told to get Dean's laundry, but I forgot to ask which room..." He trails off pathetically. Because this is probably a situation where less is more, so shutting up is definitely in his best interests.

Gordon smiles but there's no light in his eyes. His body is relaxed but doesn't exude friendliness like Dean's. He's relaxed because there's no reason not to be. He's in charge here, and he worse yet he _knows_ it. He starts moving toward Castiel, who backs up reflexively.

"What's your name?"

"Cas-" His back hits the wall and he nearly falls back against it. But he welcomes the interruption. It gives him a chance to correct himself. "Pretty Boy. My name is Pretty Boy."

That earns a laugh as Gordon's arms come up to bracket Cas' face. "Is that so? And what'd you do to earn that name? Think you could show me?"

The only thought running through his mind is a strangled _fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck_ as Gordon moves in even closer, his warm breath chasing Castiel when he tries to make himself smaller-

"Hey, uh- Hey, were you looking for me?" They both freeze at the sound of a voice, not at all confident but definitely _there_.

"Yes!" Castiel squeaks, using the momentary distraction to slip out underneath Gordon's arms and move towards his savior.

"I thought you were looking for Dean's room?" Above everything else there's definitely malice in Gordon's tone.

"Oh- oh, well-"

"He was," the other man replies, a little more smoothly than before. "But he was supposed to check in with me first."

Gordon's eyes narrow and he stares them down one at a time. Castiel does his best not to shrink under the glare. The man next to him looks completely disinterested, but the twitch of his left eye gives away the lie. Cas waits with baited breath, hoping Gordon will back down and just give up.

He does. With an overly bored "Whatever," he turns and heads back downstairs.

The older boy lets out a strangled sounding laugh. "Well, I guess that could've gone worse," he says, turning to offer a hand to Castiel. "I'm Chuck."

Cas accepts the hand. "Castiel. Er, I mean-"

"Forget the damn nicknames, I couldn't give less of a crap. Honestly, I'm only even in this fraternity because I'm a legacy and wasn't really allowed to _not_ be in it." He shrugs, as if that's all there is to it. "You need Dean's room?"

They make their way down to the end of the hallway. Dean's room is the last one on the left. The door is slightly ajar and Chuck pushes it in, clearly unfazed at invading Dean's privacy. "Why don't you hide out in here for a bit before you do whatever it was you're supposed to be doing."

He nods and takes a seat on the bed. "Thank you, by the way. For earlier."

"Don't worry about it. Gordon's a dick, but he wouldn't have done anything. He just likes to make you _think_ he would. He was making you uncomfortable cuz he likes it and fuck him for doing that."

"Still. Thank you."

Chuck smiles and leaves, shutting the door behind him.

Part of him wants to soak in everything in Dean's room, because even the little bits that he's noticed so far are so _Dean_ that he loves it. Part of him wants to just zone out for a bit to kinda digest what just happened. And still another part just wants to get the damn laundry taken care of so he has something to focus on.

So he just sits there, as undecided as when he'd first come upstairs. At least now he's in the safety of Dean's room and not at the mercy of any frat brother who stumbles upon him. He's wading through his muddled thoughts when the door opens.

Dean swings of his backpack and throws it by his desk. He groans in relief at getting rid of the extra weight, runs a hand through his hair, but then freezes when he notices Cas sitting on his bed.

"Cas," he squeaks, closing the door behind him. "Not that this isn't a fantasy come true and all, but what are you doing up here?"

"Oh. I..." He swallows, shifts his gaze uneasily away. "I was just..."

"Hey, what's wrong?" And Dean's instantly kneeling in front of him, arm on his shoulder with a gentle squeeze before he runs it through Cas' hair. And damn, doesn't that feel nice.

"Nothing," he says too quickly. He closes his eyes to center himself and takes a deep breath. "Nothing," he repeats and it sounds better. "I'm supposed to be doing your laundry-"

"It's fine. You sure, uh... You sure you're alright?"

Dean's concern is touching but unnecessary. Okay, so he's still a little rattled. But nothing happened, Chuck doesn't think anything _would've_ happened, and most importantly, nothing's _going_ to happen. He just let Gordon get inside his head, and he'll make sure to avoid that in the future. "Really, Dean," and he grabs hold of the other boy's hand to reassure him. "It's sweet of you to ask, but I'm fine."

He looks like he doesn't quite believe it, but Dean just rolls his eyes and lets it go. Before he can get back up, though, there's a tentative knock and the door opens. "Hey, Dean?"

It's Chuck, who looks startled for a moment. And taking stock of the situation - both of Cas' hands clasped around Dean's, Dean kneeling in front of him with that earnest look - yeah, he can see why this is a bit compromising. (Maybe not as compromising as the lecture hall, but not entirely innocent, either.)

Then Chuck's expression shifts into something akin to resignation. "You got a minute?"

"Yeah, sure." To his credit, Dean doesn't look too embarrassed as he gets back to his feet and extracts his hand from Cas'. He gives Cas a wink. "Why don't you get the laundry taken care of? Take the dry-cleaning with you, you can head back to your dorm after that. There's a card for the dry-cleaner's in the front pocket."

"Yes, sir." He adds the last part to be teasing and if the blush is anything to go by, it definitely works.

Before he can quite slip by though, Dean pulls him in close and quickly glances at Chuck. Chuck rolls his eyes and takes a few steps back out into the hallway. Even with the added privacy, Dean leans in to whisper, "Not to beat a dead horse or anything, but what I said earlier still applies. No jacking off tonight, alright?"

"Of course, sir."

The buzz of pleasure that follows in the wake of their little exchange eases the remaining tension in his body. He grabs the laundry (he figures he can wash it at the laundry room in his dorm while he does some homework) and suit bag, giving Chuck a friendly nod before heading to the stairs. Chuck's returning smile is a little strained. It doesn't occur to Cas why that might be until he's halfway out the front door.

"HE WHAT?!" Dean nearly screams and then he's bounding down the stairs, taking them two at a time, with Chuck on his heels.

"It's not a big deal," Chuck huffs out. "You know he wouldn't have done anything, he just... I don't know, wanted to make a point or something." A few curious heads peak out from the kitchen and common room. He does his best to wave them away but only the pledges comply.

"Not a big fucking deal my _ass_ , where's that fucker hiding?" He catches sight of Cas frozen in a kind of horror by the door. "Is it true?" he demands.

"Dean," Cas reaches out to him, to steady himself and calm Dean down. "It's- It's fine."

He looks like he wants to pull out his hair. "It is not fucking _fine_ , Jesus, Cas!" He storms off, no doubt to look for Gordon and give him a piece of his mind.

Chuck watches helplessly from the steps, fingers playing with the banister and shoulders slumped in defeat. "You should probably get out of here while you can. Gordon and Dean are both going to be in pretty shitty moods the rest of the day."

Although he's pretty sure he could cheer Dean up, the idea of getting in the middle of this mess (or at least, more than he already is) has him out the door. He drops off the suit and makes a mental note to pick it up after his classes. Then he spends the evening reading his archaeology textbook while listening to the soothing sounds of dryers. When he gets back to his room, Dean's clothing neatly folded and ready to be delivered back to their owner, it's something of a shock that he realizes he's no longer upset about what happened.

Yeah, it was awful at the time. But with a couple hours to mull it over, it reminds him more a time he got his ass slapped by a stranger at a kegger in high school. Unwanted, inappropriate, but more surprising than anything else. Sure, he doesn't have to give Gordon the time of day after pledge week ends, but he's also not going to give the incident more of his brain power than it deserves. Which is, currently, none.

Nevertheless, Castiel falls into his bed totally burnt out. Which is in some ways good, because if he had the energy he might be tempted to jerk off. Because it's just _too_ easy to imagine Dean pressing him up against a wall with a coy grin, licking his lips and telling him in no uncertain terms what he's going to do to him. And sure, he could lie to Dean about following his directions but... what would be the fun of that?

* * *

 **AN:** This chapter took a turn I hadn't expected... Whoops? Though I think it'll work out well: Gordon can get his for being a douche; Dean can show he actually cares about Cas; AND Dean can make sure that Cas definitely is okay with the sub/dom thing they've got going on (I want to make it super clear to all involved that the dean/cas stuff is *NOT* dub!con in any way shape or form). Feedback on if you think it works?

And don't worry, sexy stuff is definitely planned for the next update.


	6. Day Five: Wednesday

**AN:** Soooo... long chapter. Whoops? I briefly toyed with the idea of making this chapter two parts but then decided fuck it. Two chapters in a row without smut? No thank you!

This chapter starts kinda out slow because I needed to keep up the whole following Dean around campus stuff (all the subtle little ways they get hazed and add up to the bigger stuff is kinda fun), but uhm... things happen at the end. That's all I'm going to say :) (though of course the tags have been updated to include this chapter)

I hope to be able to continue an every day writing schedule, but I do have two other WIP's that are kinda demanding my attention. I might have to take a day off to get chapters of them up or else I'll feel guilty, especially if the chapters for this story keep being this consistently long.

* * *

Wednesdays are his late start days. He doesn't have class until the afternoon and even his pledge duties don't require his attention for a while. Castiel takes full advantage of his scheduling lull to sleep in, go for a jog around campus, and enjoy an extra long shower. At first he worried the jog would overburden any lingering aches in his muscles, but thankfully all it does is help him relax further.

With a half hour before his first class, he stops by the frat house to drop off Dean's laundry. It's too early to pick up the dry cleaning, but he may as well get this out of the way in case Dean needs anything he's washed. The house is more or less empty - he runs into two guys who just eye the laundry he's carrying and leave him alone, no more than a nod in greeting. Even Dean's room is empty, backpack gone.

It's disappointing, but Castiel knows full well that he'll be seeing Dean in a few hours.

He still has time to grab breakfast to go (a breakfast burrito from a food truck that likes to stop by the student parking lots, his favorite on campus indulgence) before he has his Freshman English class. He sits in a corner of the small room, only big enough to sit about thirty students, and eats while working on his essay.

All in all it's a good start to the day and he's humming quietly to himself as he heads down to the math building. (And if his smile gets a little brighter when he sees Dean waiting with Samandriel outside, well, that's nobody's business.)

"Hi, Pretty Boy!" calls Samandriel, happily handing over Dean's backpack. Cas can't help but raise an eyebrow at that - only the frat boys call the pledges by their nicknames, or if the pledges do it, it's really more as a joke. But he seems to be genuinely happy to see Castiel and finds nothing odd about the nickname. Cas turns to Dean who just shrugs and goes to remove the collar.

"Hello Saman- er, Alfie." And then because if they're seriously going to play this game, may as well go all in, he adds, "Hello, sir."

The blush that spreads rosily across Dean's cheeks is equal parts pleased and embarrassed. Samandriel is oblivious to it all, beaming at Dean as he asks, "Anything else I can do for you, sir?"

He's not sure what he expected - maybe some trace of the heat in Dean's eyes that normally comes at being addressed that way - but all Castiel sees is fond amusement. "Nah I think Cas- uh, Pretty Boy can handle it from here. You get to class." And then to Cas' surprise he musses the younger boy's hair before gently pushing him away.

"Alright, I'll see you this evening!" He waves at both of them before jogging off toward the dining hall.

They both stare after him. Dean breaks the silence with a laugh and a shrug. "Weird kid, but he's growing on me, I gotta say."

"Yes," Cas agrees. He turns to face Dean, about to speak (he's not sure what, but a desire to say _something_ weighs heavily on him), but Dean's not looking and shifting uncomfortably on his feet. Cas hesitates, which gives Dean the opportunity to speak up instead.

"So, uh..." Hands in his pockets, Dean looks slightly adorable except for the discomfort. "I TA Calc first, then I got Diff Eq. I could probably use your help passing out stuff for Calc..." And then he awkwardly trails off.

Cas eyes him suspiciously, because obviously Dean wants to say more, but he doesn't comment on the abrupt way he trailed off. He suspects that last night and Gordon are still on his mind, are things he'll want to discuss. Maybe he just needs to build up to it, or maybe he just doesn't have the mental capacity to deal with the conversation before classes. Cas has no doubt it'll come, eventually, and is possibly relieved that the moment isn't _now_.

So for now, Cas nods in acknowledgement and follows Dean into the building. They head upstairs to a decently sized classroom half-full at about 25 students, all chatting quietly until they see Dean come in. The silence that follows would be stifling if it weren't immediately filled by Dean starting the class.

As they go through the motions of discussing the last quiz and homework assignment, Dean occasionally grabs some chalk to better illustrate a concept or write out an example. The whole time, Cas stands at attention in the corner by the door. He gets a few curious looks, but nothing more. Dean needs no assistance (and if he did, Cas is now painfully aware that he would be unable to provide it - math was never an area he focused on and it's another thing that Dean excels at), leaving Castiel to drink in his fill of watching the older boy.

Dean is so very much in his element. There was a stiffness when the class started (not nerves, he doesn't think, rather Castiel attributes it to his own constant presence) that quickly relaxed in the familiar routine of teaching. Cas gathers that this is how the class is normally run. Dean shows up, helps the students with the old concepts and gives a quick rundown of the new stuff, and the professor shows up once a week to actually lecture and give an exam (which Dean no doubt grades).

And Cas didn't think he had a thing for teachers (he's still not sure he really does, there's a good chance he has a thing for Dean that obscures the rest of it) but he's definitely getting a little turned on by the easy way he exerts his authority.

Okay, yeah, so it's definitely a Dean-in-charge thing rather than a teacher thing.

The only time Castiel is actually involved in the lesson is when Dean tells him to pass out some papers so they can talk about a new concept. Uncaring of the audience, he takes them and says, "Yes, sir," before moving through the lines of students. Even with his back to the front of the room, he can somehow _feel_ Dean's eyes follow him. And yes, he rather likes that feeling.

The class ends while Dean is mid-explanation on logarithmic differentiation, but he assures them their professor will continue the explanation next class and it won't be on the homework until the weekend. The students file out, offering thanks and asking Dean an occasional question. They eye Cas curiously, a few eyes flashing to his collar, but otherwise don't react to him. Perhaps Dean said something before pledge week started, warned them ahead of time.

When it's only the two of them in the room, Dean's guarded look is the only warning he has. "So, uh, about last night-"

"Don't worry about it." He's not embarrassed, per se, but Dean seems to be. He takes a few steps closer so it'll be harder for anyone in the hallway to overhear them. "I'm not sure what Chuck told you, but it wasn't that bad."

"Did Gordon have you pinned against a wall?"

Cas makes a face. "Sort of?" Pinned implies a lot more bodily contact than there was. In fact, it was more the _threat_ of contact and the proximity.

"Did he make you think he might do something to you?"

"I..." he swallows. He remembers briefly how he felt in that moment, the uncertainty of it. "It seemed a possibility," he hedges.

He's startled by Dean aggressively putting the math textbook on the table in front of him. His knuckles are white where they grip the book, but even the momentary paleness does nothing to hide the angry bruising on his right hand.

"What happened?"

Dean flushes all the way to his ears when he realizes where Castiel is looking. He lets go of the book and starts fidgeting, his hands moving to his face, his hair, the papers he has yet to put away, before settling on his hips. "Nothing that Gordon didn't deserve."

"Dean, I don't need you defending my honor."

"It ain't about that. Or, like, not _just_ that anyway. Gordon's gotta learn he can't treat people like they're objects." Dean looks downright sick as he continues, the anger all gone and something more self-deprecating taking its place. "I uh, I'm sorry if I've made you... If you've ever felt _uncomfortable_ or if I've... maybe taken things too far or-"

"Dean," he scolds. Two more steps and he's right next to him, a hand reaching out and offering a comforting squeeze to his left shoulder. "Please don't worry about that. I have enjoyed _everything_ about pledge week, with the minor exception of last night, and spending time with you." He pauses, unsure if he should proceed. But then he decides 'fuck it' and plows ahead. "And I assure you there are many _other things_ I would enjoy, if the opportunity were to present itself."

The blush that had nearly dissipated now comes back even worse than a moment ago. It really is a good look on him and Castiel relishes the fact that he's able to cause it so easily. "Yeah. Okay. Good. Uh, good talk."

Add flustered Dean Winchester to the growing list of Castiel's kinks.

Their talk has them running late. Dean curses when he sees the time and then they're sprinting up the stairs to an even smaller classroom with room for maybe fifteen people. Dean must be last to arrive since his entrance earns annoyed grunts from his classmates and an eye roll from the professor, but as soon as he and Dean take a seat the lecture starts. Although late, clearly no one considered the possibility that he wouldn't show up.

Cas hands Dean the necessary notebook and sometimes different colored pens (Dean apparently has a penchant for color-coded notes). But the topic is way above his head, the math lecture earlier being more his speed yet still a bit beyond the scope of what his previous coursework taught him. His mind wanders, at first to completely mundane thoughts like his next class and what he's going to get for lunch later. That slowly leads into plans for the late afternoon, which of course means thinking about what _tasks_ Dean might have for him later.

He's a little ashamed to admit that he gets half-hard in a damn math classroom thinking about it.

But he stops himself each time before he can build a complete fantasy. He knows things he _wants_ , allows himself to enjoy those desires, yet he can't help anticipate the _mystery_ of how they might end up there. Which is half of what this is, the sexual tension between him and Dean. Dean's the one in control, the one who'll decide if and when and how and _fuck_ change that from half-hard to fully hard and shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

Dean's hand reaches out to steady his thigh, a questioning (but also knowing) look accompanying the gesture. Cas goes for a reassuring smile but it feels a little stilted. He shifts again (the eye contact is _not_ helping). Without a word, Dean turns back to the lecture. Though his hand carefully makes its way up Cas' thigh, brushes his crotch briefly, before he pulls away and goes back to his notes.

And damn him and his cocky grin as he bites his lip and pretends not to enjoy Cas' suffering.

The class ends and Dean mercifully goes up to talk to the professor, giving Castiel time to calm down before he has to get up. This must be the professor he works as a TA for since Cas is pretty sure he hears them discuss the upcoming lesson and today's class. He's managed some semblance of calm by the time Dean's gesturing for him to follow.

Cas carries their backpacks as they head to the library. Dean doesn't have a class right now, but that's the meet-up spot for his next pledge/personal slave. Castiel, however, does have a class starting soon. Monday-Wednesday-Friday's are his busy days, so the rest of the afternoon is pretty packed for him. They don't talk on the walk over, but they're so close together that their hands sometimes brush. It's nice, and not in the heated way most of their encounters have been.

Kevin's late to meet up with them, enough that Castiel's worried he won't make it to class in time, but he refuses to leave when Dean suggests he go.

"I wouldn't want to be negligent in my duties, sir."

Dean laughs through a groan. "Jesus, Cas, you're gonna kill me saying shit like that. How am I supposed to get through the week with you being all _agreeable_ and shit?"

He can see Kevin walking over, almost within earshot, so he takes advantage of the last remaining seconds to answer, "Who says you have to make it through the whole week?" And as he hands over Dean's backpack to Kevin, he can feel the weight of Dean's gaze on him. He has just enough will power to avoid looking back.

The rest of the day is kind of a blur. His classes hold his attention and offer the necessary distraction, though after a while his head is so full of new information that he barely has any room left for more pleasant thoughts. He isn't reminded of the possibilities he'd encouraged Dean to think of until he's dropping off his stuff in his dorm room and then heading to the dry cleaner's.

He's almost giddy as he bounds up the steps to the frat house. It should probably worry him that he's in such a good mood, because honestly it can only go down from here. Yesterday kinda proved that. But he's naive like that.

His first task is to deposit Dean's suit in his room, make sure to hang it up in the front of his closet so that it's ready to go. There's no reason to assume it'll see any use soon, but he has a feeling it will. Taking some initiative, he finds Dean's dress shoes and shines them, places them by the closet door in clear view.

As he's finishing up, there's a knock on the door (even though Castiel had left it open). Not waiting for a response, Aaron opens it the rest of the way and takes in Cas and the room and the suit and the newly shined shoes. He raises his eyebrows but doesn't say anything about it. Instead, he puts his hands in his pockets and says, "All the pledges are being rounded up. You guys are scrubbing the floors downstairs tonight."

Again Castiel acutely feels the absence of words that want to be said, but unlike Dean, Aaron takes a moment to build up to it.

"You and Dean... I, uh, look I don't know what's going on there. Not my business, either. Just... Dean and I kinda had a thing a freshman year. And it was fun, but... that's all it was. Fun, and then Dean moved on and we didn't really talk about it. I don't think he's _out_ out, or anything, so he's usually not looking for more. And I'm not sure what you're looking for, but just in case you were hoping for a relationship or something... Just a head's up, is all."

And he looks a little awkward but earnest. There's nothing malicious, Cas can see that right away, motivating this confession. Although he feels himself deflate just a little, he reminds himself that initially that's all he was looking for anyway. Fun with the hot frat boy. And after that he can settle for friendship, since Aaron and Dean have obviously managed that much. So he mentally readjusts his expectations (and sure, it leaves a bitter aftertaste, but that's his problem isn't it?).

"Thank you." And he means it. He might not have wanted to hear it, but it's good to know.

Aaron nods and leaves without a word, too intent on escape to drag out this conversation any more than necessary.

He waits a little bit before heading downstairs to help the other pledges. Benny unceremoniously hands him a toothbrush and points him in the direction of the kitchen. There are already five pledges in there, scrubbing away at the floor and the big appliances. Castiel sighs and rolls up his sleeves before finding a corner to get working on.

Aaron meant well, but the timing is terrible. The cleaning's not difficult, not by a long shot, but the use of toothbrushes makes the work slow and tedious. With only the occasional interruption of frat brothers coming in to pester them with push-ups and demands to recite the entire Greek alphabet, Cas is left to his thoughts. He tries to focus on the positives. That Dean is a good guy and that what they're doing is definitely enjoyable. And if there's an end in sight, it simply means he needs to fully revel in it while he can.

(At one point, he sees Gordon at the edge of his periphery. He tries not to tense up and he thinks he doesn't, at least not noticeably. Gordon, for his part, enters the kitchen, spots Castiel, and comes to a dead stop. He watches him, that much Castiel knows, but he doesn't acknowledge his presence so he doesn't turn to look and judge how bad it is. Before he knows it, Gordon is doing an about face and leaving. And later he'll hear whispers from the other pledges about the swelling around his nose.)

All the pledges are set working, and even at their current rate it shouldn't take more than a few hours to clean the whole main floor. Of course, it does take longer, because aside from the continued annoyance of physical labor, the frat brothers make a point of trudging through with dirty boots. Or eating without plates, their crumbs falling all over the place. Or knocking over unfinished soda cans and beer bottles. Or purposely breaking eggs on the clean stretches of floor. It's aggravating, no doubt about it, and keeps them busy for well longer than it should.

In fact, it isn't until close to ten that a final inspection is done by Benny and Victor, who meticulously go through each room. After they begrudgingly confirm that, yes, everything is fucking spotless, the pledges are dismissed for the day. And it's only then that Cas realizes he hasn't seen Dean since the afternoon. Disappointment swells inside him but he ignores it.

On the way out, however, fate intervenes. Dean steps through the front door in his suit, pulling at the knot of his tie and undoing the top button. Their eyes meet and Dean smirks. "Hey Pretty Boy, wanna help me get out of this monkey suit? Gonna need someone to hang it up for me."

"Actually, we're done for the day."

"Oh," and his shoulders slump. "Come in and help anyway?" The hope he tries to hide is too damn cute for Castiel to ignore.

Cas appraises how good Dean looks in his suit and bites his tongue to stop from thinking about how good he'd look _taking it off_. The idea of being there to _help_...

"Of course, sir. That is, if you really need me."

"I most _definitely_ need you." Ducking around the other guys who are making their way back to their dorms for the night, the two head upstairs with Dean in the lead. He watches the way Dean's muscles move underneath the suit, so well-fitting that they in no way hide the firmness of his ass. Which, quite frankly, would be a sin against humanity if it did.

Dean opens the door to his bedroom and motions for Cas to enter. When they're both inside, he closes the door deliberately, letting it settle into place with a loud _click_. Dean moves with practiced confidence to the center of the room, lifting his arms so that Castiel can remove the jacket.

Castiel takes it off slowly, allowing his hands to run along Dean's arms, then hangs it up to avoid wrinkling. As he starts undoing the tie, scarcely a foot away, Dean starts talking. "Had a wrestling banquet tonight. Kinda stuffy affair, make us dress up and everything. Was worried I wouldn't get to see you tonight."

Keeping the same quiet tone Dean used, Cas pulls away the tie and answers, "Lucky for both of us, I'm still here." He hangs up the tie and starts pulling out the edges of Dean's dress shirt. Dean's breath hitches a bit as he starts undoing the buttons, taking measured movements for each because it's all he can do to keep his hands from shaking. Shirt undone, he removes it just as slowly, as teasingly as he had the jacket. Instead of hanging it up, he puts it in the laundry basket.

This is his first time seeing Dean's naked torso, and though he wants to do nothing but stare, Dean pointedly looks down at his shoes. He gulps in anticipation, then moves back in front of Dean. He holds the other man's gaze before kneeling down in front of him. One by one, he takes off Dean's shoes. Starts with the laces, loosens them probably more than necessary, and pulls at Dean's knee to get him to lift his foot enough to slip them off. He then takes off the socks, brushing his knuckles along the underside of Dean's foot.

He would have never thought undressing someone else could be so sensuous, but it is. He puts the shoes to the side, not willing to move, and is finally brave enough to look up at Dean.

Dean looks _beautiful_ , eyes dark with lust and focused solely on _him_. He lets his eyes work his way down Dean's body, pauses briefly at his nipples and the smooth plane of his stomach, before stopping at the prominent bulge at eye level. Dean is straining against his dress slacks and damn if Cas' mouth isn't watering at the thought of getting his hands on Dean's dick. It's been days of them playing around, surely Dean would allow it.

As if reading his mind, Dean's right hand gently cards through Cas' hair and then cups his cheek. "You gonna help me with the pants? They're gettin' kinda _uncomfortable_ , but I'm sure you could fix that."

"Of course, sir." And it might be too intimate for the situation, but he first turns Dean's hand around in his own, kisses the beaten knuckles. Dean whimpers a bit, and it only gets louder when Cas traces his hand up the outline of Dean's cock and starts undoing his belt buckle. He briefly considers pulling the whole belt off, but he doesn't want to deal with the extra time it would take to put it somewhere out of the way. Instead he focuses on the button and zipper.

Dean hisses a bit at the freedom and his hand comes back up to pet Cas' hair. Not guiding, not holding, just soft little strokes that bolster Cas' confidence. He hooks his fingers through the top of both the pants and boxers, pulling them both down in one go. Not all the way - he leaves them bunching around his knees because _fuck_ Dean's cock is right in front of him and there's no room in his head for anything else.

He looks up to Dean, licking his lips in a silent question. Dean looks like he could just _devour_ him right then and there, but all he gets is the slightest inclination of his head. Permission given (or rather, an _order_ ), he turns his attention back to Dean's dick.

A dot of precum rests on the tip in silent invitation, so Cas licks his way from the base up to the head before kissing it away. Dean's fingers tense in his hair and he lets out a whiny little breath, but Cas ignores both and keeps going, repeating the action several times until Dean's covered in spit. Cas looks up through his eyelashes then, grabs the base of Dean's cock in one hand and strokes a couple times before taking the head into his mouth and rolling his tongue over it again and again.

" _Fuck_ ," Dean hisses and half-bucks forward before getting control of himself. "You have no idea how fucking hot you look like that, do you?"

In answer, Cas removes his hand and takes the whole length into his mouth without warning. Dean's reply is a strangled sound that's not much more intelligible than a, "Hmmnggh!" He stops there, sees how deeply and how long he can hold Dean there. "Ohhh," Dean sighs as his other hand comes up to stroke Cas' cheek, to feel himself inside his mouth.

Dean's hand lingers with a few more caresses before brushing some stray hands of hair away. Cas takes that as his cue to get to work, bobbing back and forth, changing the suction and sometimes skimming Dean's length with his teeth. At some point his hands come up to knead into the globes of Dean's ass (and _fuck_ he's wanted to do that all _week_ ). He's only done this a few times before, but he hopes his enthusiasm will make up for the more unrefined parts of his technique.

Not that Dean seems to mind. He keeps moaning encouragement, praising him. (Though thankfully not too loudly - he would be _mortified_ if they got caught, if they assumed Dean was forcing him into this, because it's not... that's not what this is but it wounds him that anyone might think that little of Dean.) "So good for me, baby, keep going. Love how deep you take me, _fuck_. Look so beautiful like this."

All the while Cas hums in contentment and keeps going until he hears his name.

"Cas." He doesn't stop just yet, keeps going until Dean's tugging at his hair insistently. "Cas."

His mouth pops off and he licks his lips to collect any drool and precum that might have escaped. He looks up, resting his cheek against Dean's dick as he does so. "Yes, sir?"

Dean takes a beat to compose himself at the sight, but then he's looking serious. "Undo your pants and touch yourself. Want to see how much you enjoy servicing me."

Now it's Cas groaning helplessly, shutting his eyes and palming himself.

"Cas." It's a warning, so he nods and complies.

It feels good to get his throbbing dick out in the open, to relieve the pressure of his pants and get a hand on himself. Dean tells him to stroke a couple times so he does, moaning and resting heavily against Dean's inner thigh. If he's not careful, he'll come like this, too soon and he's distinctly aware of being told that _he's not allowed to, not yet_. He squeezes himself tightly and keeps his hand movements measured, precise. Finally finds the balance between relief and teasing.

"Sir, can I-" He whimpers as he tries to think what he's asking. "May I keep sucking you off? Please, sir. Want to so badly."

Dean pulls his head back by the hair, holds him steady a few inches away from his dick. He then uses his other hand to grab himself, to rub the tip against Cas' lips that part at the contact, that move to try and kiss and lick and swallow him down. But Dean moves his cock away each time, just far enough that Cas has to strain and pull his hair to try and get closer.

"You want to give me head?"

"Yes, sir," and it's a whine more than anything else.

"You want me to come down your throat?"

"Yes, _please_ , sir." He's not above begging, not right now, not with his own impending orgasm.

"You gonna swallow done every drop of my cum? Lick it off your lips afterward?"

"Yes, sir, _of course_!"

Dean seems to consider, ignores Cas' whimpering protests as he continues to hold his cock out of reach. "Alright, Pretty Boy. You're gonna do all that for me, just like I said, alright? And then when you're done swallowing me down, you're gonna cum for me. You got that?"

"Yes, _yes_ , sir!" And he means it, all of it, wants it all so badly he can't see straight.

Convinced, Dean guides his dick to Cas' mouth and lets him get back to sucking just like he'd asked to, _begged_ and _pleaded_ to. And it's strangely easy for him to switch his efforts to getting Dean off, especially now that he knows he'll get to cum afterward if he does his job.

Dean keeps making obscene noises, keeps running his hands through Cas' hair until he's grabbing the back of Cas' neck to hold him in place as he comes. Cas swallows it all, keeps swirling his tongue back and forth to coax out more. Soon Dean hisses from over stimulation and Cas reluctantly falls back onto his legs, looking up at Dean as he continues to stroke himself.

"Come for me, Cas."

So he does, an incoherent mess of noises spilling from his lips as he comes all over his hand and his shirt. Spent, Dean collapses to his knees next to Cas, completely oblivious to any cum that might have landed on the floor. Or maybe he simply doesn't care, which is its own kind of hot. They lean against each other, breathing heavily waiting for their heartbeats to calm down.

Dean's the one to pull back first. He gets up and grabs a towel to start cleaning Cas up, doing his best but he'll need a proper shower when he gets back to his room (and to ditch these clothes ASAP).

"So, uh..." Dean's eyes nervously dart around the room. "That was..."

"Unexpected?"

"I was gonna for really fucking hot, but sure, that too." They laugh, no, _giggle_ a bit at that. And that's all it takes for any awkwardness that might have bloomed to dissipate.

"I should get back to my dorm." Cas moves to stand and Dean offers a hand.

"You sure? I don't want you to think I'm kicking you out or anything-"

Castiel gestures to his obviously soiled shirt. "I need to clean up for real and get some reading done before I go to bed."

"Oh, yeah, right. Sorry to, uh, keep you-"

"Dean," he scolds and starts to worry this is going to become a thing. Him scolding Dean for feeling like he's single-handedly gotten them into this situation. "I stayed because I wanted to. Just like I'll stay tomorrow if I want to, or the day after, or any time after that."

The worry doesn't quite leave Dean's eyes, but they flash with eagerness. "Tomorrow, huh?"

"Or the day after, like I said."

"Yeah," Dean agrees as he licks his lips. "Yeah."

He can't hide the smirk or the happy little skip to his step as he walks back across campus to his dorm. And fuck it, he doesn't really want to either.


	7. Day Six: Thursday

**AN:** I am very disappointed with myself that I didn't get a chapter up yesterday, but since I dedicated some time to a WIP I just didn't get the opportunity to write more for this :/ But It worked out, because I was able to tweak some ideas for this chapter :)

And now I'm even more disappointed that I didn't get time to finish the entire Thursday section. But realistically there's no way I'd get it done today, so I wanted to post what I could. Thursday evening will be its own chapter and should be done tomorrow *fingers crossed*

Oh, and I realized I'm basing a lot of this on my own college experiences and thought I should clarify one thing in case other schools don't do it (seriously I have no idea). Free hour was at 12 every day of the week. No classes were *ever* scheduled during that time frame, so it was a great time to meet up with people (most clubs met then). So when Cas talks about free hour, that's what he means.

* * *

Cas goes to bed loose and relaxed, floats along pleasant dreams that leave him feeling refreshed in the morning. Which is good, because as soon as he opens his eyes and remembers the previous night, anxiety starts twisting in his gut. His body winds up in tension and he ends up skipping his first class so he can go on a long run just to try and calm down.

(It doesn't help.)

It's not regret that itches under his skin. Fuck, he'd get on his knees for Dean any day. And that's the issue, isn't it? He doesn't know where they stand. There's only two more days left of pledge week and then it's over, and he's worried that once that happens they'll kinda drift away from... well, from whatever it is they are now.

As he runs his hands through his hair to try and dry it after his shower, he reaffirms his earlier plan. To enjoy this as long as it lasts and accept whatever Dean's willing to offer. Friends that fuck. Just friends. Boyfriend.

And luckily, he's not _quite_ infatuated with Dean yet. Oh, he could be. Give him even the _possibility_ of Dean returning his affection and it would happen at the drop of a hat. Right now, though, his heart is just heavy with the very real _potential_ they have to be something great.

As he jogs to meet up with Dean, he feels much more at ease. Dean looks up from a paperback when he hears Castiel walking over. He gives a quick smile before turning back to his book, then does a double take. Cas frowns in silent question. At first Dean just swallows, Adam's apple bobbing. "Uh, nice hair."

"Huh?" He runs a hand through it and feels it sticking up. "Oh," and he does it again a few more times to try and tame it. "I, uh, I hand dried it."

"Well it's a good look on you."

He blushes despite his resolution to _not_ fall for Dean. Damn flatterer. Luckily he's saved from responding as Dean hands over his backpack and motions them into the building. It's Dean's psych class again. They sit approximately where they did the last time and he hands over the appropriate notebook.

Dean grabs it, then grumbles, "Oh, fuck, I forgot-" He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out the familiar collar, lifts it up with shaking hands and fumble on the buckle. Cas inclines his head more to give Dean a better angle - he's pretty sure offering to put it on himself would deprive them _both_ of something they want - and soon it's in place.

After three days of it, it's surprisingly grounding. Comforting, almost.

There's not much opportunity to talk during the lecture. Dean is as studious as the last time, more so since he doesn't even ask Castiel to get him a snack. It gives him the opportunity to tune in to the explanation of the Milgram experiment (and he tries not to read too much in the way the professor looks at him critically from time to time). It's very likely he'll have to take psychology at some point, and the topics appeal to him enough that he doesn't dread it.

When class is over, Dean seems in a rush to get out of there. He's already handing his stuff over to Castiel before the professor's done speaking, sitting on the edge of his seat like he's about to spring out of there the first chance he gets. After the assigned readings are announced, Dean is up and making his way to the door. Cas nearly has to run to catch up.

Other classes in the building are letting out too, since free hour is starting. Despite the head start Dean got them from his own class, the hallway is surprisingly full. As Dean leads them to the exit on the far side of the building, masses of students are walking the other way to get out and head to the dining hall. They have to navigate the crowd, moving in and out of groups as they make slow progress. It's all the more difficult for Castiel as he tries to balance not only his own backpack but Dean's as well.

They're almost in the clear, maybe ten feet from the door, when one final class lets out, led by a particularly loud and rowdy group of guys. They're too engaged in their conversation to notice Dean and Cas trying to make it for the doors behind them. Dean moves to the right, hugging the wall as he keeps going. Castiel sees an open space and, because it seems easier, starts to go to the left. Before he can get a full step towards his intended target, there's a hand in his, pulling him in the opposite direction.

Dean continues to drag Cas by the hand even after they escape the throng, now on the less crowded sidewalk heading to the park by the library. Cas looks down, too stunned at their intertwined fingers to say anything. He can feel his cheeks heat up though, and his heart beats an erratic staccato. He settles into the feeling of it - Dean's calloused hand wrapped protectively around his own - and matches his stride to Dean's.

They arrive at the same spot of their Tuesday lunch date. Only then does Dean seem to notice that he's holding Cas' hand and he goes adkorably awkward. Castiel can _see_ the gears turning as Deans' eyes go wide and he tries to look up at Cas to gauge his reaction. Cas saves him by shrugging and letting go.

Not that he can save Dean from the furious blush threatening to blot out all his freckles, but oh well.

They both sit in the grass and Cas waits expectantly for directions. Unlike last time, Dean grabs his backpack and takes out a pair of brown paper bags. Wordlessly, he hands one over and starts opening up the other.

Curious, Castiel unrolls the top of the bag and peaks inside. He looks up at Dean because surely he must have switched lunches, but Dean is steadfastly not meeting his eyes and starting to eat an identical lunch.

Cas pulls out a container mac and cheese, still half-warm, as though it were made this morning. Next there are some buffalo wings (he can smell the tang of the sauce as soon as he opens the tuperware). And finally a bag of chocolate chip cookies, too imperfectly round to be anything but homemade.

He blinks a couple times as he tries to process the comparative decadence of this lunchtime offering to the previous PB&J Dean had given him last time. His head's a little fuzzy at how sweet Dean was to do this, but he ignores it and decides to go with teasing instead of flattered.

"Are you trying to impress me, Dean Winchester?"

"Pssh," he waves it off dismissively. "So what if I am?"

 _Oh, it just means I'm going to fall for you that much faster._

 _I am so fucked._

Dean lays down on the grass, aggressively trying not to do more than sneak glances of Castiel out of the corner of his eye. Castiel tries to look the right amount of pleased (happy for the thoughtful gesture but not so much that he'll pounce Dean and start making out with him furiously - a fine line to walk, because Dean biting his lip in nervousness as he waits for Cas to try the food is a very tempting image).

And as bad as it was when he had merely _seen_ the food, he's nearly overwhelmed when he actually _tastes_ it.

"Mmmmm, oh my god." And okay, moaning like a porn star over some home cooking is ridiculous, but it's been _so_ long since he had anything but mediocre dorm food. Which means he might be overdoing it - the food might not be anywhere near as good as he thinks it is - but he can't help it. "'s so good."

He takes a few more bites before he looks up to see Dean starring at him, slack-jawed and frozen.

"Sorry." He's thoroughly embarrassed (the noises he was just making in the context of what he and Dean did last night... oh god, he just wants to crawl under a rock) and glad there's no one else to witness it.

"No! No, uh, don't apologize. I... uh, I like the enthusiasm. Even if it is just mac n cheese."

"Don't be modest. It's the best meal I've had since I left home."

Silence reigns as they eat. It's not oppressive but strangely welcoming. Cas has the chance to just soak up Dean's presence. It's really really nice to just spend time together without the shadow of pledge week and _the other stuff_ hanging over them.

They don't talk much even when they're done eating. It's just chitchat about their classes mostly, something to pass the time. And fuck, it's just as comfortable as the silence was. Everything with Dean is so damn _easy_ that it worries him. How's he going to handle it when it starts getting difficult?

Dean's hand lingers on his neck when he removes the collar, drifts down to rest on his shoulder. Squeezes before letting go.

Spanish class is the worst torture he's ever known. He walks there in a haze that doesn't dissipate once the professor starts rattling off in words Castiel's vaguely sure he's supposed to know but can't be bothered to parse out. Unless they're covering how to say 'nice ass,' 'beautiful cock,' and 'please fuck me' today, he's pretty sure he doesn't care.

There's a moment when the professor takes a moment to hand back quizzes and he's tempted (more than he'd like to admit) into sneaking out early. But honestly, the only reason he stays is because there's no point. He's an excited, anxious mess and wants to see Dean... but with the schedule they're on, leaving won't let him see the older boy any sooner. So he may as well use the remainder of class as a distraction so he doesn't slowly go insane waiting.

And he forces himself to walk slowly to the physics building. There's no rush - Dean's class might get out at the same time, but it's farther away. He'll get there first no matter what. He uses the lines on the sidewalk to keep his pace in check, gets each foot within the lines of each block, only occasionally toeing the crack dividing them.

It works too well, because just as he rounds the corner of the physics building, he sees Dean and Kevin stop by the entrance. Kevin waves him over eagerly, even meets him half way to the door and practically shoves Dean's backpack into his arms.

Kevin gives him _a look_ , but Castiel just squints in confusion. Kevin rolls his eyes but tries again, which only manages to make Castiel's squint more pronounced. There's clearly some time constraint to this exchange that he's unaware of, because Kevin hisses at him, "Dude's in a mood, watch out." Then he's pulling off the collar and handing it off with a wave. "Good luck! See you tonight!"

While he's left starring after Kevin, Dean manages to sneak up on him.

"Want me to help with that?" He's reaching out and waiting for the collar, a palpable eagerness in the way he makes opens and closes his hand.

Who's Castiel to deprive him?

He wordlessly hands it over and offers his neck. Dean gulps but puts it on, lets his fingers trace it briefly before pulling away and heading inside.

It's now clear what Kevin meant by 'in a mood.' Dean is bordering close on giddy as he leads Cas into the building. If he were to skip down the hallway and laugh with glee, it would not honestly not be much of a shock. It's almost ominous how excited he is.

Any remaining tension that lingered from yesterday's events has already ebbed away over the course of the day. So when his belly twists in anticipation, he knows it's not _that_. No, it's rather that it's been replaced with the need for _more_. And as they take the same seats in the back, he's all too vividly aware of what happened (almost happened?) last time.

But Dean's as patient as the last time, waiting until they're well into the lecture before doing anything. It's long enough that a bit of disappointment burns in Castiel, a little doubt that there'll be any more after yesterday-

And then Dean's hand is rubbing circles on his inner thigh.

Cas is too turned on to worry about how quickly he gets hard after that. Or that once he is, Dean works his pants open without preamble. Slips his hand inside and starts stroking him leisurely with a grip that's firm and demanding all the same. Cas lets it happens, is so _relieved_ that it's happening that he sinks further into his seat and his head drifts back to rest against the chair.

The professor drones on and Dean slowly picks up the speed. Occasionally he'll come to a stop and just _squeeze_ , trace his thumb across the head or let his fingers drift down to tease his balls. It's enough to get him startlingly close with little effort. He's dancing along the edge of orgasm within a few minutes. The next couple strokes force out a desperate groan (that thankfully no one but Dean can hear) and his breath hitches in agitation.

"Am I-" He has to clear his throat and try again. "Am I allowed to come, sir?"

Dean keeps stroking him, keeps it interesting by dragging a blunt nail along the underside of his cock. Cas is worried he'll have to ask again, but Dean finally gives in. He bites his lip in consideration. "I don't know..."

Cas whines in protest.

"What do I get out of it if you come? You gonna offer me something in return?"

Oh _fuck_ that's- Dammit, they need to finish negotiating or whatever this is or he's going to come regardless.

"Yes, sir. _Anything_ you want-"

"It's just, I got something in mind-"

" _Yes!_ "

"You don't even know what it is yet-"

" _Please!_ Sir, I'll do it, whatever it is- I just need- I can't- _Please!_ "

"You're so desperate for me." He tsks in mock disapproval. "You promise, Pretty Boy?"

He barely manages to nod before he's coming in his pants, boxers soaked and Dean's hand getting covered. Dean milks him through it, watching him intently the whole time, then holds his cock firmly. He waits until Cas is coherent again before he pulls his hand out, deliberately catches his eye as he licks his fingers clean.

Holy. Shit. What the fuck has he gotten himself into because his dick is making a valiant effort to get hard again at the sight of Dean _licking his cum off his fingers_.

Dean is trying to kill him, he thinks right then and there. Kill him with orgasms and hotness and sexual tension.

(Not a bad way to go. He just wasn't expecting it. How will they word that on his tombstone?)

When he's recovered enough to feel how disgusting he is, he starts moving toward his backpack to find some napkins or tissues. A hand keeps him firmly in place. Without even looking, Dean whispers, "Don't clean up."

Castiel looks down at himself helplessly. The wet spot is already chilling in the overly air-conditioned lecture hall. But he doesn't complain as he zips his pants back up and tries to get comfortable despite the wetness. Dean doesn't comment, merely smiles at his orders being followed.

Yes. Dean is trying to kill him.

He almost (keyword: _almost_ ) forgets about it by the time the lecture ends. But as soon as Cas gets up, he grimaces at the hard stickiness that's left over. Well, that's unpleasant.

Dean makes him go first and watches smugly as he winces a bit and tries to walk normally. He knows he doesn't quite succeed, but does the best he can and hopes no one pays any mind to his awkward shuffling.


	8. Day Six: Thursday Evening

**AN:** I'm super annoyed at myself for not getting all of this chapter done yesterday, but alas, I actually do have to work at work sometimes. Damn fascists. But yikes, good thing I did split them up because this half got long too...

Also, I hope you assholes (and seriously, I mean asshole in the most affectionate way possible) are happy - I now have a fully formed plan for a sequel fic to this planned. Why can't I write self-contained one-shots!? (Though tbh I look forward to the sequel because I'll get to explore some of the themes brought up in this story more fully. And by themes, I mean kinks. And by explore, I mean Dean and Cas will be having a lot of sex.)

* * *

Unfortunately, he has one more class that day before he can retreat to his dorm room and shower again. (His roommate raises an eyebrow at that - that's three showers in less than 24 hours. Definitely suspicious.) The whole time he's paranoid that everyone somehow _knows_ what happened and why he's strategically angling a textbook in front of his crotch.

He manages to focus for a whole hour on his homework before the anticipation is just too much. What did he agree to? He's totally game for whatever it is, but the _mystery_ of it. Holy fuck, _what does Dean have planned_?

The question plagues him as he tries to read the damn novel for English. He gets about five pages in, realizes he has no fucking clue what's going on, and gives up. Instead of torturing himself with work he's not going to be able to do (at least not do _well_ ), he heads to the frat house.

When he shows up, he's on the early side but not by much. The house is normally pretty quiet this time of day - lots of the brothers have classes, study groups, sports, or clubs that keep them occupied until early evening. So Cas is kinda shocked when he sees a huge crowd of people on the front yard. Walking down the block, he has the opportunity to try and figure out what the fuck is going on.

The grill is back out and one of the frat brothers he hasn't met yet is flipping burgers. Castiel recognizes maybe six of the other people on the lawn as Sigma Sigma Beta members (some who live in the house, some who don't), but the others are all strangers. As he gets closer, he recognizes that everyone has on a shirt with their Greek letters. It seems every fraternity or sorority on campus is represented, even in this little microcosm of SKU.

On his way up the driveway, he can feel a dozen pairs of eyes on him. He turns to see a lot of the sorority girls appraising him, even whispering amongst themselves as they openly take in every facet of his body.

(A couple of the frat boys look interested too. But as soon as one of them turns to say something to a Sigma Sigma Beta guy, he shakes his head and whispers something. Disappointment flicks across his face but he shrugs. What the hell is _that_ about?)

One of the girls, a confidant blond, walks up to him and blocks his way to the front steps. "You one of the pledges?"

"Uh-"

"Oh my god, Jo, leave the poor guy alone!" Another girl, a redhead with glasses, bounces up next to him. "Look at him, he's gonna get eaten alive tonight."

Castiel starts a bit at that. And then blushes when he realizes there's no way these two could possibly know about him and Dean. Instead he wonders what the frat has in store for them tonight and why there's such a huge audience.

Jo gives him a skeptical once over. "Maybe. But he looks like he can handle himself. You work out?"

He frowns. "Is that a flirtation?" It's only at the possibility that this girl is about to flirt with him that he makes an effort to take in her appearance. She's cute, not necessarily his type but definitely attractive. Somehow he missed that. And when did he stop noticing cute girls and guys?

Both girls laugh. The blond a little more boisterous and it takes her longer to calm back down.

"Oh no, honey," says the red-head as she tucks an arm around his and pulls him close. "We're not here for the guys. I mean we are, but not like that." She winks at him. "We're here for the festivities. Jo's just trying to decide which pledges she wants to put her money on."

The _fuck_ are they going to be doing tonight?

His confusion must show - he makes no effort to hide it - and the laughter's back. "Oh no," the redhead says. "They didn't tell you yet, did they?"

"Whose your frat brother?"

"Gonna give them shit for letting these poor babies not know what they'll be doing tonight?"

Jo snorts. "No, I wanna talk to him to get the deets on who to bet on. I play to win. So c'mon dude, whose in charge of your group?"

"Uh, Dean."

The girls share a look. It's fast, too fast for him to decipher, but it's weighty in its significance. But then they're appraising him all over again and he has a feeling it has nothing to do with the betting.

"Dean?" It's not really a question, they don't need the clarification, so he's pretty sure there's some other conversation going on between them that he's not privy to.

"Yes?"

Jo bites her lip. "You've got blue eyes."

"Also yes?"

The redhead's eyes are shining dangerously. It worries him. "Interesting. Isn't that interesting, Jo?"

"That's down right fascinating."

They continue to stare at him and he feels like he's an animal in a zoo exhibit. It's damn unnerving.

"You know what," and the redhead is patting his arm gently. "I think we've got what we need." She lets him go and waggles her eyebrows. "Good luck tonight!"

Seeing a chance at escape, he ducks around the blond and rushes up the steps. The door's slamming shut in his wake, but he manages to overhear Jo's fervent, "I am going to _kill_ Dean for not mentioning-"

Cas stops mid-step and nearly backtracks to the door. But intrigued though he might be, the idea of eavesdropping isn't appealing. He puts a mental bookmark on the whole interaction. Right now he's gotta figure out _what the hell_ is on the agenda for today.

No one's on the first floor so he heads straight out back. Unlike the front yard, this area must be closed off to the general crowd milling about. All he sees are frat brothers and a few of the pledges. The frat brothers are mostly gathered around a table, making notes or arguing over various pieces of paper. One of them is fiddling with the lock on a little box. It looks kind of like the ones they'd use when taking money for tickets at football games back at his high school.

The pledges are all at work. Some are busy spreading out and nailing down a tarp in the middle of the yard. Most of them are standing around some large buckets, a hose in hand and giant paddles are stirring the mystery contents. Curious, and encouraged by Samandriel's friendly wave, he walks over.

He takes a quick peek into one of the buckets. "That is an alarming amount of jello."

"There's more inside," Kevin mutters as he walks by with one of the buckets, waddling as he tries to balance it.

"But _why_ is there so much jello? And people in the front asking about bets?"

"Oh, there's a tournament tonight," chirps Samandriel happily. As if that explains _anything_.

"So basically," Kevin comes back and hands him a paddle and pulls him towards one of the buckets. "They've got this tradition of having a wrestling tournament among the pledges. They've already got a bracket set up and everything."

He starts dumping in jello powder and turns on the hose. Cas starts stirring. "And let me guess. The jello...?"

"Yep. We'll be wrestling in jello. In front of all the frats and sororities on campus. It sounds like they raise a lot of money doing this. Like, it costs ten bucks to get in and then they have all these bets going on. And after they get back the money for the jello, they donate the rest to a charity. I think this year it's the animal shelter a few blocks off campus."

"Well at least if we're going to make spectacles of ourselves, it will benefit a good cause."

Kevin gives a half laugh. "Yeah, great. I'll try to remember that when people are flinging jello at me and I'm getting wrestled into the hard ground by some dude."

It takes another hour or so to prepare. The pledges get the jello, carefully lining up the full buckets around the farthest edge of the tarp. The frat brothers finish up the bracket and post it on the back of the house (using only their nicknames, of course). The empty losers bracket goes up next to it. And then there's a list of odds for each of the pledges, giving the smaller pledges like Kevin (1:20) and Samandriel (1:16) low odds of making it past the first round.

Castiel's not sure how pleased he should be with his own 1:6 odds.

As they take it all in, Benny steps out onto the back porch with a mojito. He's amused at their fascination with the proceedings. "Now this takes me back," he drawls. "Y'all might be wondering, what's in it for you to actually _win_ this here tournament. Maybe you think you'll lose your first match on purpose, get out of the embarrassment as soon as possible. And I don't blame you. It's tempting.

"But let me promise you, that it's in your best interests to win. We got some more festivities tomorrow, some of which you'll like and some of which you most definitely will not. Winners today 'll have a little more control over their own destiny when it comes to those activities. Losers... well, y'all won't like how that pans out for you in the long run. So do your best, or it'll catch up to ya real quick."

The brothers laugh, looking all too excited.

"You remember how bad it was, don't you, Crowley?" Victor shouts.

"You assholes bloody rigged it so I'd lose!" he snaps back over the cackles of laughter.

"Yeah, cuz he totally looks in shape enough to win a fight," Kevin mumbles under his breath. Cas and the other nearby pledges chuckle, but Samandriel looks scandalized that they'd be so brave.

"The goal is to pin your opponent for three seconds. Shoulders gotta be flat on the ground. We got refs to keep count and make sure y'all play nice. Jello'll be all over the place, but don't you pay that any mind. You're allowed to fight in the clothes you got on, but again, there's quite a bit of jello. And the hoses'll be going from time to time. Even with the tarp, it's like to get muddy. Most guys strip down to their boxers, but it's up to you."

He takes a long sip of his mojito. "Why don't y'all head down to the far side of the yard. Stay on that end or we're not responsible for how _frisky_ some of the other houses get. There'll be beer for y'all and water, maybe snacks?" He looks over to Aaron who nods. "There'll be snacks. Stay hydrated and eat up."

They're barely herded to one side of the yard when the gates open and people start filing in. Most head towards the brackets before going to the long table to place bets. Even from this distance, he sees Jo and the redhead make a beeline for the tables. The redhead manages to catch his eye and she gives him a thumbs up when she does.

The mingling goes on for another half hour. The pledges watch but don't stray too far from each other. The couple that do almost immediately trickle back, the loud catcalls of sorority girls following them. So really they end up chatting with each other in nervous anticipation.

A fog horn goes off and they can hear Benny yelling over the crowd that they have five minutes left to place bets and then they're getting started. Aaron, Victor, Crowley, and Gordon all head over and grab their pledges for a pep talk. Cas and the others from his group stand awkwardly off to the side, unsure what to do without Dean there.

"I'm here! I'm here, don't start yet!"

Dean rushes over and takes a minute to catch his breath. He puts a hand on Cas' shoulder and leans heavily against him while he does so, but he's not really sure if Dean's doing it on purpose. "Sorry, had office hours I couldn't get out of."

"It's alright, sir." And how exactly does Samandriel sound so casual when he says that? "Benny explained most of it already."

"Good. They uh... there's some bragging rights involved for the brother whose group wins more fights, but seriously, no pressure. Just do your best, have fun. I'm rooting for you guys. Don't drink too much beer until you're kicked out of _both_ brackets. Even play wrestling can get you hurt if you're tipsy."

"Yes, sir."

A base layer of jello is being thrown onto the tarp and plastic cups of it are being passed around to the spectators who eagerly start to crowd around. Benny and Chuck each have one of the hoses and a corner of the makeshift ring. Benny chats animatedly with those standing around him. Chuck just looks bored (or at least, he _tries_ to look bored... there's a bit of curiosity as he sees the first two wrestlers come up).

The fights go pretty quickly. The frat brothers take turns reffing and providing loud commentating. Each match gets cheers and boos alike. The cheers are usually followed by jello being flung at the fighters. Boos result in getting hosed down. And jello. Always jello.

For his first match, Cas decides to keep his clothes on (though he wisely leaves his shoes on the grass). He's wearing a pretty generic tee and an old pair of jean shorts, so it's not like he's worried about them getting dirty. A few steps onto the tarp let him know just how fucking slippery it is and conditions don't improve when he's tossed almost instantly on his back. He wiggles free and manages to pin the other boy, though not before receiving a face full of jello.

He wipes it off with the bottom edge of his shirt as he walks off, tries to get it out of his hair, and comes to the conclusion that it's a lost cause. He's already soaked, which is ridiculous given his match only lasted maybe seventy seconds. In an effort to make it easier for him to wrestle later on, he ends up ditching the shirt and shorts, leaving him in nothing but his faded boxer briefs.

(And as he tosses them in the growing pile of dirty clothes at the edge of the yard, he might notice Dean checking him out. He maybe makes a point of flexing his back muscles as he walks onto the tarp for his next match.)

Cas isn't a particularly skilled fighter. He took some self defense classes as a child, play wrestled with his brother too, but it was never something that he pursued. At least he's quick and he's got strong legs from years of running. There's some lingering soreness from the exercises he's been forced to do all week, but it's not as though the other pledges aren't sore either. Considering his fitness level is above average, he's probably suffering less than several of his opponents.

It helps him make it to the semi-finals at least, but he suspects he won't get much farther.

(Worse is that he can _feel_ Dean's eyes on him whenever he's wrestling. The more compromising the position and the louder the shouting, the more keenly aware he is of Dean's presence on the sidelines. It's a fucking nightmare, trying not to pop a boner. Ugh, maybe he should've kept his shorts on after all.)

In between matches he cheers on the other pledges, whether they're in his group or not. It's supposed to be in good fun, so he sees no reason to play favorites. So he supports them all equally, congratulates each winner and offers consolation to the losers.

After he makes it to the finals, he knows he's reached the extent of how far he can go. His goal was never to win, just to see how far he could go. And he's pleased with his success, never mind the bruises he'll probably have tomorrow.

"Now calling up Pretty Boy and The Jolly Green Giant!"

The name's well earned, because the other boy has a good six inches on him and at least sixty pounds. He's a beast and Castiel knows, just _knows_ , that he's not going to win. He changes tactics, no longer trying to win outright but to simply _not lose_. It can only delay the inevitable, but it's the only option he has (other than getting pinned in the first ten seconds). It buys him a couple minutes, which is all he was going for.

The cheers that erupt when The Jolly Green Giant wins ring in his ears as the other boy offers to help him up. They shake hands and head off together, but part for their separate groups. As he passes by Dean, he gets a slap on the ass.

"Not bad."

"Thank you, sir."

Soon it's over and they're all pushed back onto the tarp so they can be hosed off. The water's freezing and with the adrenaline from wrestling gone, Cas is starting to feel the chill. Benny yells out congratulations to them and warns them to get home quick - the sorority girls and frat boys tend to be a bit _handsy_. That has most of them running to grab their clothes and try to sneak through the crowd to get back to their dorms.

He's only just managed to find his shorts and shoes (Where the hell did his shirt get to? Oh! There it is-) when a solid hand reels him in.

"Hey," Dean breathes into his ear. "Come upstairs for a minute? I'll help you dry off."

Cas is lost in those big green eyes and wonders how Dean could _ever_ doubt he'd follow. "Uh huh."

Dean smiles and leads the way to his room, never once letting go of Cas' arm. He waves at some people who call their name, but the gesture is a very dismissive one. By the time they're on the stairs, the intent behind this little trip starts becoming more and more clear.

After they enter the room (and Cas does notice that he locks the door behind them), he does actually grab a towel, which isn't exactly what Castiel was expecting. He frowns in question but doesn't object when Dean grabs his clothes and tosses them in the laundry basket. Cas reaches for the towel, but instead of handing it over, Dean starts drying him off.

"Dean...?"

"I gotcha, don't worry."

He lets Dean continue, carefully going over every inch of him with the towel. He's pretty sure his hair's a mess after Dean does a couple passes over it, but he doesn't comment. As he makes his way down his chest, Dean gets on his knees. It's a strange reversal of yesterday, but there's still no doubt who's in charge here. Especially when he snaps the waistband of his boxer briefs and grunts, "Take these off," in a tone that offers no room for argument.

Castiel obediently takes them off and throws them in with the rest of the laundry.

Dean takes his time, slowly works down to the curve of his ass and then Cas' crotch. The towel's a little abrasive against him, new and not quite worn in yet, and he can't help but gasp at the contact. The gasp turns into a moan as Dean playfully works him over, spending way more time than necessary drying his balls and his dick. Cas can't do anything to hide his erection by the time Dean moves on to his legs and feet.

"You looked really good out there." Dean says it so casually, as if this is a regular conversation. "The things I would've done to you if there weren't all those people around..."

His hands ball up into fists because _god damn_. "What-" his breath catches in surprise as Dean gives his cock a quick squeeze before standing up. "What would you have done to me, sir?"

The answering smile is so predatory Cas shivers. Without saying a word, Dean drops the towel and moves to the dresser. He pulls out some clothes, tosses them at Cas. "Put these on, can't have you catching cold."

He starts with the boxers, only mildly disappointed that his dick is now out of play, then the shirt. It's an old AC/DC tee that smells faintly like Dean even though he knows it's clean (he washed it himself, after all). When he's done getting dressed, he looks up to see Dean watching him like a hawk.

"You look so fucking good wearing my clothes," Dean practically moans, voice pitched deep. "Get on the bed."

Cas does as he's told, moving so that he's resting back against the headboard. Dean ditches his shoes and loses his pants. He strokes himself through his boxers, never taking his eyes off Cas. "Look at you. In my clothes... In my fucking _bed._ _Fuck_." He crawls onto the bed, makes his way to Cas and straddles him. Doesn't actually sit, stays up on his knees, but boxes Cas in so all he can see is Dean hovering over him.

They stare at each other for a while, Dean touching himself languidly through the cloth before he gets tired of it and pulls down his boxers. Cas swallows, a faint hope that he'll be able to give Dean head again flares up. He can't help but lick his lips and Dean leans forward a bit in response. Just enough to rub the side of his cock along each of Cas' cheeks before pulling away and jerking himself off again but with more fervor than before.

He watches, absolutely transfixed by Dean pleasuring himself right in front of him. The drops of precum that bead up on the tip before Dean's thumb comes up to rub them over the head. Once or twice Cas shifts so he can reach forward to help, but each time Dean grunts at him and he takes the hint. It's not until Dean leans forward, hikes up his shirt and braces against the headboard that Castiel finally realizes what's coming.

"Ohhhh," he moans, bucking into nothing. "Sir, may I- Can I jerk off, please?"

Dean groans but otherwise keeps his composure. "Didn't I already let you come today?"

The whine that escapes is answer enough.

"That's what I thought. The wrestling was sexy as fuck, not gonna lie, but you still haven't really _earned_ coming a second time."

Cas nods, content to watch. "I understand, sir."

"Such a good boy. Gonna look so good when I mark you up, aren't you?"

Dean's breathing is picking up, fast and loud. He moves his free hand down to cradle Cas' face. Traces his cheekbone, down the line of his nose and along his jaw, across his lips as he plots out where he's going to come. Then his fingers thread through Cas' hair and pull his head back. The angle's not great, but he's all too aware of the way it exposes the line of his neck. He swallows heavily and his lips twitch up in a half smile when he sees Dean's hand stutter for a second.

"Close your eyes," Dean grates out.

His eyes flutter closed and then there's warmth hitting him. His cheeks, his nose, across his lips, down his chin. He groans when he feels it, tongue automatically peeking out to grab a taste. To lick up the saltiness that's settled within reach. He feels Dean run a finger through the cum on his cheek and he obediently opens his mouth to suck it off. When he opens his eyes, Dean's expression is unreadable but it quickly lights up in a grin.

"You're such a mess," Dean laughs. Then he leans in and licks, fucking _licks_ at the cum on his nose and _holy shit_ he's going to have jerk off fuel to last the rest of his life.

"That's not helping." How he manages to keep his voice even in that moment he'll never know.

Dean winks at him and gets up. "Sorry. Hey, stay there. I'll get a washcloth." He's gone no more than a minute, then he's gently cleaning up Cas' face. The warm water feels nice, as does the tender touch. A guy could get used to being treated this way.

 _Dammit Castiel, don't think like that._

"I assume I'm not allowed to jerk off tonight?"

"Course not. That'd be cheating. You still owe me from this afternoon." Dean rolls his eyes at Cas' raised eyebrow. "This was _not_ what I was planning. This is just you being too fucking hot for me to last a whole fucking day without getting my hands on you."

"So," he starts, dragging out the lone syllable. "What exactly _did_ you have in mind?"

"Oh!" Dean bounces off the bed and grabs a box from the top drawer of his desk. He smirks wickedly as he walks back over to the bed and holds it out. "I'm gonna need you to wear that _all day_ tomorrow. You think you can handle that?"

Castiel accepts the box, turns it over a few times. It's not as though the large image on the front doesn't clue him in, but he makes a show of looking it over and feeling the weight of it in his hands. He suspects it'll take him some time tomorrow morning to work in the impressive girth of the purple butt plug he's been given, but he's more than up to the challenge.

"Yes, sir. I think I can do that for you."

* * *

 **AN:** *whispers* I don't know how to make jello. I think you're supposed to like put it in the fridge though? Anyway, just pretend this is super awesome jello that doesn't require refrigeration or anything like that.


	9. Day Seven: Friday Morning

**AN:** Sooooo... I was just gonna do one chapter for Friday, but uh... Cas got a little impatient and needy and then stuff happened. I apologize for nothing. (lol it of course means I didn't do *any of the things* I'd originally planned for this chapter)

Side note, I really hope I can finish this and have it posted before Thursday evening. Otherwise it'll have to wait til next week (I'm out of town Friday-Monday). I *theoretically* should be able to do that, there's not much left, but if Cas and Dean keep going off the script it might take longer.

I think I've got something like: Friday Afternoon (possibly a short chapter); Friday Evening (*waggles eyebrows*), Saturday (sort of an epilogue?)

As always, tags have been updated to reflect this chapter.

* * *

Dean's not cruel enough to make Cas walk back to his dorm like that. He lends him some sweatpants (though the look he gives Cas when he's fully dressed in nothing but Dean's clothes... well, it's a close call but Dean might've been thinking about round two) and puts the butt plug in a discrete brown paper bag. Not that it doesn't feel like there's a neon sign floating above him flashing, "THIS BOY HAS A PURPLE BUTT PLUG IN HIS HANDS! JUDGE HIM!"

His walk back to his room as quickly as possible. The paranoia he's feeling is unjustified, of course, but he can't shake the feeling that _everyone knows_.

 _Oh god,_ he thinks. _If this is how bad it is just carrying the damn thing to my room, how am I going to feel **wearing it all day tomorrow**?_

When he gets back to his room, he tries not to look guilty. Luckily his roommate is out so he doesn't have to awkwardly avoid eye contact as he slips the bag into the drawer of his nightstand. Or try to hide the way he's half hard, has been since he left Dean's room.

There's a moment when he's safely tucked in his bed, cozy in his blankets and masked by darkness, that he's _tempted_. Tempted to stroke himself to full hardness and think about the plug on a few feet way. Allow himself to fantasize about what Dean has planned for tomorrow (because by now he knows the older boy well enough to know he won't stop there, oh no, he'll have so much more in mind).

But Cas also knows he can't come. So he could tease himself, work himself toward a finish line he's not allowed to cross, but for what? He'd be more worked up than he is now, and short of calling Dean and begging him to reconsider-

His brain kinda short circuits at that thought. Because he _could_ ask Dean, couldn't he?

He scrambles for his phone and flips through the contacts. The frat brothers gave their pledges their numbers the first day, just in case they needed something. And the brothers have _their_ numbers, just in case _they_ * need something. Dean's name has been there since Sunday, waiting between Balthazar and Gabriel's numbers. It'd never occurred to him that he might need it, but now...

It's late, he reasons with himself. Dean's probably gone to sleep. Disturbing him to ask for permission to jerk off is hardly going to go over well.

Cas is wavering back and forth, finger hovering over the call button, when he hears the key in the door. He nearly jumps out of his skin. In a panic, he turns off the phone and shoves it under his pillow. The door opens, light sweeping across the room just as Cas has finished settling down to pretend to be asleep. Heart beating out of his chest, he's not entirely sure he's convincing. But mercifully his roommate doesn't notice (or at least says nothing if he does).

There's some puttering around for a couple minutes before his roommate also goes to bed. With only a little annoyance, Castiel acknowledges that the decision's been made for him. He tries not to sigh too loudly.

Of course he doesn't sleep well, either. It takes a while for him to actually drift off, and even then he's plagued by vivid dreams and the idea of _calling Dean and asking pleading begging to get off_. The thought has ingrained itself so deeply into his subconscious that as soon as he hears his roommate slip out for an early class, he's instantly awake.

Although he's reasonably confidant that Dean doesn't have class today (he might need to TA, but otherwise he's free), Cas doesn't want to interrupt. He opens up a new text message. Luckily (or unluckily), he's too groggy to put much thought into what he sends.

 _8.02 AM: Sir, may I come?  
8.02 AM: Pls_

The minutes drag out in silence and Cas starts to worry. What if this isn't Dean's number? What if it's one of the other frat brothers or its just some random number he'd typed in by mistake? Or maybe it _is_ Dean's number but he doesn't know it's Cas? Cas hopes that Dean wouldn't be doing... whatever it is they're doing with other people. But maybe he is and maybe he's wondering _who_ is sending him this message and-

 **8.11 AM: Cas, I told you - you gotta EARN getting to come**

Cas lets out a sigh of relief that at least some of his concerns have been addressed. It's short-lived when he registers that he has _not_ been given permission. He whines out loud and starts typing out a reply with angry frustration.

 _8.12 AM: PLEASE sir - I've been thinking about you all night_

He pauses right after he hits send, an idea occurring to him.

 _8.12 AM: Is there anything I could do to **earn** coming?_

No answer. He thinks maybe he pushed too far, that his punishment is that he won't even get a reply in addition to his lack of relief.

 **8.15 AM: You alone?**

He can't type a reply fast enough.

 _8:16 AM: Yes sir my roommate is in class_

 **8:17 AM: Gimme a minute**

Castiel does his best to be patient, but he squirms in his bed and palms restlessly at his cock, straining against his boxers and soaking the front in precum and- Oh shit, _Dean's_ boxers. He's still in Dean's clothes from yesterday. _Fuck_ that's... that's unexpectedly hot.

 **8:19 AM: Get out the bag I gave you**

Eagerly, he does as he's told. He didn't inspect it after Dean gave it to him yesterday, too embarrassed to do so in front of Dean and too paranoid to do so on the walk back or when he returned to his room. Now he carefully takes it out and empties the contents on his bed. The butt plug is still in its box, just as he'd expected, but there's also a container of lube. Which... okay, yeah, good thinking. He's not even sure he has that much left.

 **8:20 AM: Get undressed  
8:20 AM: Call me when you're ready**

He strips in record time then positions himself against his headboard with the pillows cushioning his back, opening up the box and making sure the lube is within reach. Cas takes a moment to calm himself down, steady his breathing, before actually hitting the Call button on his phone.

 _"Cas."_

"Sir," he hisses out, because _fuck_ Dean's voice is right in his ear and if he weren't already hard, he would be at that.

 _"So eager for me, couldn't even wait til tonight, could you?"_

"No, sir, please-"

 _"You hard yet?"_

"Yes, sir. Have been all night..."

 _"You didn't open the lube yet, did you?"_

"No, you- I was waiting for you to tell me to. Tell me what to do with it." He reaches for it in anticipation.

There's a hiss on the other end of the phone and some movement. _"Yeah, yeah I can do that for you, sweetheart. First I want you to stroke yourself a bit, just to ease some of the tension."_

Cas does as he's told, working himself slowly. He wasn't kidding when he said he's been hard all night, but it'd been more of an ever present arousal that never fully left even in the few hours of sleep he managed. Now it takes no more than a few strokes to feel his erection _aching_ for more than the teasing he's currently allowing himself.

A whimper escapes before he can bite it down, but Dean must hear it. _"That good?"_

"Not enough," he whines.

 _"Alright, baby, don't worry, I'm gonna take real good care of you. I want you to grab the lube, get your fingers nice and coated."_

He lets go of his cock in favor of following the directions. He props the phone against his shoulder to free his other hand when he has issues opening it. This is heaven, honestly, having Dean whispering what to do. It's so much better than the half-formed fantasies he's been running through all night, because now he can _do_ something about it. Not just _imagine_ Dean helping him get off, but move towards that goal.

The lube's cold, but he doesn't take the time to warm it up between his fingers. No, that's an unnecessary distraction. So instead he coats his fingers generously and starts tracing gentle circles around his rim. He's too tense, too excited and needs to relax first.

 _"Talk to me, Cas."_

"I'm-" He gasps as he tries to push in with one finger. It goes in at first, but the intrusion just causes his muscles to tighten up again. He pulls back out in frustration, whining. "I'm just... Haven't gotten... I..." The rest dissolves in a wordless plea.

 _"You need to calm down. Can you relax for me? Please, baby, want you to feel good. Keep circling your hole for me, nice and slow. You doing that?"_

"Yes, sir."

 _"You keep doing that, and when you're ready, you push in. Just one finger for now, okay? That plug I got you is kinda big, don't want you to get hurt stretching out too fast."_

"Yes, sir." His body has already loosened up just listening to Dean, so he tries his index finger again. He sighs when it meets no resistance, keening happily as he gently pumps in and out.

 _"Sounds like success so far. You ever done this before, Pretty Boy? You ever opened yourself up for a toy?"_

"Yes." It's hard to concentrate on what he's doing while talking, but he doesn't want to disappoint Dean. He swallows and tries to collect his scattered thoughts. "I... I have a dildo that I use. Got it... A friend got it for me for my birthday when I was sixteen..."

Dean laughs. _"Must've been a real good friend, takin' care of you like that."_

The memory of his sixteenth birthday replays. Meg smiling deviously at him as she hands him the gift, wrapped in obnoxious pink paper with a big white bow. He'd blushed so much when he'd opened it but he'd been so pleased. He wasn't brave enough to buy one for himself, but Meg had a way of seeing through the front he put up and what he hid underneath. That's why they'd gotten along so well.

"Yes, sir. My best friend from high school." He's much more open now, so he hesitantly adds a second. The stretch doesn't quite burn, so he gets back to work pumping in and out, occasionally scissoring out.

When he next hears Dean, the gravel of his voice makes his movements stutter. _"They show you how to use it or let you try it out on your own?"_

A new image comes to mind, this time of Meg's bedroom. Her coy look as she'd pushed him onto the bed and opened him up just like he's doing now. Of her pegging him as he begged for more.

"Yes," he whines. "Yes, she did."

 _"She- she?"_ Dean splutters and then moans himself. _"Jesus, Cas, you are best thing that's ever happened to my sex life, I swear to **god**."_

Cas hums happily.

 _"How many fingers you working into that pretty hole of yours, Cas?"_

"Two," he says, but then adds some lube and pushes in a third. "Three, sir."

 _"I bet you look so fucking beautiful, on your bed and working yourself open. Gonna look even better with that plug in you, keeping you stretched out all day for me."_

He can't help but moan at that, because sure he'd _thought_ maybe... But Dean's words are so suggestive, hinting at what else he has planned for him. On a whim, he pulls his phone from his ear and opens up the camera app. Takes a short video of himself, fingers at work and cock leaking precum onto his belly, and then sends it before he can change his mind.

Cas knows the _exact second_ Dean gets the message, hearing the little notification _bing_ , and even better he can tell when Dean's finished watching the video.

 _"Cas-"_ he gasps and then there's movement. And sure, it's muffled by the phone, but it _sounds_ like-

"Sir, are you- Are you touching yourself?"

 _"Fuck yeah I am. You think I can watch my- watch you open yourself up for me and **not** jerk off?"_

"Can I- Sir, I think I'm ready for the plug, may I-"

 _"Yes, fuck Cas, **yes**!"_

His fingers leave him feeling empty, but that's not going to be a problem. Not if he's expected to have the plug in all day. Wear it until Dean's ready to use him. Hell, maybe he'll even draw this out, wait until tomorrow. Make sure Cas is full until then.

With those possibilities in mind, he squeezes lube onto the plug, coating its considerable girth. (And maybe he compares it to how Dean felt in his hands just a few days ago.) He shifts so he can get it between his legs and angle it just right. At the first push, only the tip breaches the puckered opening.

 _"Cas- Tell me... tell me what you're doing."_

"I'm pushing it in, just a little." He lets out a shaky breath as he adjusts. It's firmer, less forgiving than his fingers were. Cas pushes a little more forcefully. "Maybe an inch now, sir. Should I-"

 _"Hold it there for now."_ Dean's breathing is labored and his words come out in a rush. Cas can almost see him, sprawled out on his bed, and working his hand needily over his cock. _"Push it in another half inch, then pull it almost all the way out. Push it in a bit farther, pull it almost all the way out. Keep doing that, baby, work it in inch by inch."_

"Sir," he whispers, afraid to ask but wanting, _needing_ to see if Dean's really as debauched as he's picturing. "Can I... can I see you?"

 _"You wanna see me? See me jerking off while I picture all the things I'm gonna do to you later? While I'm listening to you get ready?"_ Cas can only manage a whimper in reply. _"You be a good boy and keep working that toy into you, okay?"_

"Ye- yes, sir, I... Yes."

He waits eagerly, phone warm against his ear. It's an awkward place to hold it, but the idea of turning the speaker on is too distressing. He likes having Dean's voice close, likes pretending he's leaning back into his arms instead of his pillows. Sure the stiffness in his neck almost ruins the illusion, but it's better than the alternative.

By the time his phone vibrates with the incoming message, he's gotten most of the plug in. Cas scrambles to open it - no small feat considering what he's doing and that he can barely navigate the phone with just his left hand. It's worth the trouble when the video starts playing.

Dean's on his bed, jerking himself fervently as his thumb reaches up to smear the precum down along the head. Unlike Cas, who's completely bare, Dean has most of his clothes on. Instead of undressing, he's simply shimmied a bit out of his pants, pulling them down just enough to get them and his underwear out of the way.

He expected a few seconds that he could play over and over, save to enjoy for later, but it keeps going. There's a low groan, something deep and guttural he'd barely heard when it happened a few minutes ago, and then Dean's coming onto his shirt. The first spurt nearly hits the phone, but the rest pools by his belly button.

So entranced by what he sees, Castiel doesn't notice that his last push sent the plug completely into him. He clenches around it and moans. "Sir, you look so good when you come... Wish I was there to clean you up, to lick it all up-"

 _"Next time, don't worry. You got that plug in yet, baby?"_

"Yes-"

 _"You've been such a good boy for me this morning, you know that? I think you've earned being able to come."_

" _Thank_ you, sir-"

 _"But I've still got plans for you tonight. You gonna be able to come for me later if I want you to?"_

"Yes, sir, I think so. For you, I could."

 _"Alright then, here's what you're gonna do. You're gonna jerk yourself off right now. While you're doing that, you're gonna tell me all the things you thought about last night that kept you up. Let me know exactly what got you so worked up you texted me this morning in the middle of breakfast. And then you're gonna clean yourself up and go to class. Can you do that for me?"_

He nods, already moving his hand to his poor neglected dick, then remembers that Dean can't see him. "Yes, sir."

 _"Tell me what you thought about, Cas. Wanna know so I can do all those filthy things to you."_

"I... I thought about how good it felt giving you head, how I- how I liked being on my knees for you. Thought about other ways I could... I could service you. Braced against your headboard, or- Or bent over your desk. Wished... wished I could jerk you off in one of your classes like you did for me..."

Dean keeps coaxing more out of him. All the dirty fantasies his imagination had run away with over the course of the last week. Cas starts to lose coherency towards the end. He pumps into his fist (thank god for the extra lube), uses his other hand to tease his balls and at the edges of the plug.

 _"So close, aren't you baby? Come for me, Cas. Wanna hear you."_

Normally Cas would try to keep quiet - between growing up with family that was always around and his current roommate situation, he's nearly a master of the silent orgasm. But he's alone and Dean _wants_ to hear, so he lets go and moans loudly as he comes all over himself. If he thought Dean almost hitting his phone was impressive, it's nothing to how a few drops of cum land on his chin.

In his post-orgasmic haze, he blanks out. His senses don't register anything other than the physical sense of relief that washes through his system. Eventually he hears Dean whispering, _"You with me, Cas?"_

"Yeah. I'm... I'm here."

 _"You sound pretty fucked out right now."_

"Yes," he agrees. He might be able to answer, but higher brain function is beyond him.

 _"Wish I was there to enjoy it."_ Any part of him that thinks Dean sounds wistful is easily ignored.

"Me too." Later he'll have time to worry about if that sounds like a confession or not. For now, though, it slips out because it's the truth.

 _"Alright."_ Dean sounds hoarse but a quick cough covers it up. _"Get yourself cleaned up. Don't be late to class on my account. And uh, take it easy today."_

Cas lets out a shaky breath as he moves, the plug suddenly very much _there_. Taking it easy will definitely be a necessity. "Okay."

There's a lingering silence, as though Dean has more to say. Castiel waits patiently as he shifts a bit, learning the ways his body will be able to move without sending jolts of pleasure/pain through him. _"I'll, uh... I guess I'll see you at free hour, then."_

"Of course, Dean."


	10. Day Seven: Friday Afternoon

**AN:** Sorry, nothing overtly sexual this chapter. Just some more good old fashion hazing.

Aaaand my timeline got blown out of the water. If I'm lucky, I'll be able to get Friday Evening up tomorrow, but most likely not since I have to pack and get things ready at work :/

* * *

When Castiel first made his class schedule, he'd been relieved for the late start on Fridays. With only one class before free hour, he thought it'd be a great time for him to catch up on sleep or to get a few runs in. Both of which were of course completely out of the question at the moment. Jerking off helped take some of the edge off, but it could only do so much to calm his nerves or distract him from the _anticipation_ buzzing along his skin like a physical itch.

The walk to class is a challenge. Using a dildo is a lot different than wearing a plug, which he supposes he knew intellectually but lacked the first hand experience to really _understand_ the difficulties it would pose. He's fucked himself roughly in the past and felt the burn the next day, and while this borders on a similar type of discomfort, it is acutely different. Every step he takes, every time he sits down, every time he fidgets in his seat just serves as a _reminder_.

And honestly, he loves it.

He sits through his English class and listens to the professor try to educate them on the difference between irony vs dramatic irony. Half the class seems confused while Cas couldn't be more bored. Well, perhaps that's unfair. He's not bored, his mind is merely elsewhere.

(Somewhere with a bowlegged boy with green eyes and freckles and damn he's totally fucked.)

(Hopefully literally.)

Class ends and he's a little stiff when he gets up, needing time to re-adjust when he's on his feet again, and it causes some curious looks. Which in turn makes him first blanch and then flush, but... there's no way they could know. No. Nothing about him screams deviant, right? Hell, he's probably imagining the attention he's getting.

"You alright, Castiel?"

It's the sort of cute girl, April he thinks her name is, frowning at him in concern. He remembers briefly entertaining a crush on her the first couple days of class. Then his world suddenly shifted to focus on Dean. Still, he feels himself go even redder at he attention. Which hopefully won't give mixed signals.

"I- I, uh, I'm just a bit sore. From pledge week." Surprisingly close to the truth, but all it does is make April's frown deepen in confusion. "My, uhm... my lower back is killing me from all the workouts they have us doing."

Her mouth rounds in an O of understanding and she smiles. "Well, take it easy and good luck today!"

"Thanks!" he calls after her before he wonders... Good luck with what?

All the pledges are scheduled to be at the quad during free hour. He's a couple minutes late (he has to walk so damn _slowly_ , each step measured carefully - it's driving him crazy) and sees that most if not the whole fraternity is there, milling around outside a large party tent. Someone notices him shuffling over and they pull open the flap, ushering him inside.

There are more of them inside, most of them sitting around in lawn chairs and drinking clandestinely from bottles hidden in paper bags. He spots Dean among them, talking with Victor and Chuck, but he doesn't go over. The pledges are on the opposite side of the tent, and it wouldn't fit into the pledge/pledge leader dynamic to go up to him now. It doesn't spot him from taking a quick glance, studying the relaxed way he chuckles or shares a beer with Victor (or how he's changed his shirt from this morning), before heading in the other direction.

He finds Kevin and Samandriel and the rest of their group. They all look nervous, and he feels he somehow missed the memo on whatever the fuck they're doing. Maybe he should've invested some time in looking up school traditions, especially in regards to Sigma Sigma Beta, because he's been flying blind the whole week. Oh well, it's the last day. Not like knowing would save him from whatever embarrassment is in store next.

Before he can ask, Benny shows up which gets the frat brothers cheering and holding up their beers in greeting. He settles them down with a look and an eye roll (too affectionate to cow them at all) and faces the pledges.

"This here's y'all's walk o shame. We've invited everyone on campus, and they're all out there lined up the quad waitin' for you to give 'em a little show." He gestures towards some boxes and a couple of the older boys open them and spread the contents out on the table in front of them. Even from this distance, it's not hard to make out that there's nothing but women's lingerie and heels. The pledges share a look, some filled with apprehension, others with silent resignation, as Benny continues.

"Each of you will get one of these fine little outfits to strut your stuff in as you walk across the quad. Winners from yesterday's matches, y'all get first dibs. Choose wisely. You're allowed to wear your boxers underneath, but the rest we're confiscating and holdin' hostage til this evening. If you're fast, you might make it across the quad in time to head back to your dorms before your next class. Otherwise, you'll be lookin' mighty fine all day."

Kevin groans, shoulders slumped. "God dammit," he mutters, "I have class right after this and my dorm is across campus."

"Guess you'll be late then."

"Seriously, Alfie, could you at least *pretend* to feel my pain?"

They're lined up by their rankings from the wrestling. Jolly Green Giant goes first, picking a skimpy naughty nurse costume that was obviously some girl's Halloween costume. He'll bust right out of it with that broad chest, but it's not nearly as damning as some of the rest of the outfits.

(As he waits, Cas tries to steal glimpses of Dean. Most of the time he's distracted, too busy joking around, but one time he happens to look up when Dean's eyes are on him. He smiles and Dean doesn't look away. No, he keeps starring, looking at him predatorily and making Cas suppress a shiver. In the end, he's the one who looks away first.)

Cas is second, and he's thankful for it. He sees the negligees and immediately passes over them. He happens to spot a coconut bikini getup and snatches it up. He relinquishes his clothing without complaint and puts on the coconut top and grass skirt while he watches the other pledges go through more and more startling outfits. There's slim pickings by the end, leaving some of them to wear loose corsets, pump up bras, and thongs. Even over their boxers, it looks ridiculous.

(They've seen each other in their boxers before, and no one seems to pick up on the fact that Cas isn't in his usual boxer briefs. Oh no, given the opportunity, he's continued wearing Dean's boxers. They're barely visible under the skirt, but he likes wearing them.)

While the others get dressed, Cas waits by the edge of the tent. Chuck wanders by and peeks a glance outside, his eyebrows wide as he turns back inside. "Good turn out this year."

"I thought you were against pledge week." He doesn't mean to sound scolding, but his something of that shows through in his tone. Chuck doesn't seem to care though.

"I'm morally opposed, I guess, but I support some of the traditions."

"Why does this and the wrestling tournament make the cut?"

Chuck shrugs. "I told you, I'm a legacy. My dad joined and my mom saw him at the wrestling tournament. And the walk across the quad is where they first kissed, so that kinda sealed the deal."

"... They kissed during this ridiculous walk?"

"Oh? Uh, yeah." And with that, Chuck wanders off, clearly having said too much.

The fuck?

Once everyone is dressed, they get ready at edge of the tent. It's taken about half an hour to get this far, giving them another half hour to get across and back to their dorms. Which is reasonable, all things considered. The walk across the quad might take five to ten minutes. Running would be far less time. Cas will be taking it slow, but so will the pledges who ended up with ridiculously tall pairs of heels. Hell, Cas might even be able to stick back with them as a show of solidarity to keep people wondering why _he's_ walking.

There's no way he'll be able to make it back to his dorm. He knows that much. Like Kevin, he has a class almost immediately after free hour. His dorm's not far, but he'd never be able to walk fast enough to get back and change. Which is why he's pleased he did so well yesterday - sitting in a crowded lecture hall looking like he came from a luau isn't ideal, but it's certainly not the *worst* outfit here.

(Dean *knew* this was today, _knew_ it and _purposely_ picked today to give him a friggin butt plug. Un-friggin-believable. He sends a glare Dean's way. All he gets back is a faux innocent little look that screams, "Whoops." His shit eating grin, however, belies that sentiment.)

(Ugh, don't be impressed by that. Do _not_ be turned on.)

"Y'all ready?" They nod at Benny's question, some getting in position to run. "Oh, I might've forgotten to mention something. Brothers, did I forget anything?" They snicker and Cas narrows his eyes. "There is one little extra facet of this walk I might've left out. See, as y'all make your way across the quad, you're gonna have to stop for _anyone_ who calls you by your nickname. And then you're gonna walk over to them and plant a big ol' smooch on their cheek."

"That doesn't sound too bad," one of the pledges says hesitantly.

"No, I suppose it don't." Benny pulls back the flap to reveal _hundreds_ of people lining the quad. Someone gulps audibly. "Don't look too great, though, does it?"

They continue to stare until Benny whistles at them and shouts, "Get to it!"

There's a rush of pledges who run across. They barely get twenty feet before the shouting starts. Cas isn't sure how these people found out their nicknames, but they _definitely_ know. He sees those in front of him already getting called to the sidelines, obediently kissing the cheeks of everyone who happens to know their nickname.

Some of the pledges are working their way across the quad with a single minded determination - Kevin, for example, stops for the half second it takes to make contact (and sometimes it looks like he doesn't even do that) before attempting to run again - while others take their time to flirt with the others. He's pretty sure he sees someone actually pick up a few numbers and there's definitely a pledge up ahead kissing a girl on the lips.

Now he's starting to see how Chuck's parents might have gotten their start thanks to Sigma Sigma Beta.

His own walk isn't particularly eventful. Calls of "Pretty Boy!" ring out every now and then. He walks over and dutifully kisses each of them on the cheek. One of the girls tries to turn at the last second to steal a real kiss, but they end up hitting each other in the nose. They laugh it off and this time she lets him kiss her cheek, though she pouts when she waves good-bye. It allows him the luxury of a slow pace, something to hide the way the plug moves inside of him with each step.

And it's completely reasonable for him to take his time. He notes how some of the other boys that rushed ahead are now about even with him. Poor Samandriel is surprisingly popular and gets stopped by pretty much everyone, guy and girl alike. He's well behind everyone, though his shy smile seems to indicate he at least enjoys the attention.

As he nears the far end of the quad, he sees that most of the Sigma Sigma Beta brothers have relocated there. They've lost the booze, but they're still loudly heckling the pledges as they reach the unmarked finish line. Aaron occasionally asks for kisses, and as he gets closer he can hear Victor giving him shit for it.

("You fuckin' creeper."

"What? It's a tradition and it's fun and shut up! If they were chicks, you'd be diggin it to.")

Cas is nearly done, maybe five feet left in his trek, when he hears a deep voice resonate over the crowd.

"Pretty Boy, c'mere and give me a kiss."

Ice flows through his veins and he's lucky it's that instead of arousal. Because Dean calling him over, publicly asking for a kiss (even if it's something as innocuous as a peck on the cheek)... That's stepping over whatever invisible line they've drawn, right? This is... _visible_. _Real_.

Admittedly, he _wants_ it to be real. But it's still a scary thought.

His body obeys automatically, walking right up to Dean. Far too close to pretend that they haven't been this close before, haven't been _closer_. Dean licks his lips but stares right at him. He holds Dean's eyes for far too long, then leans in, brushes his lips against his cheek and places the gentlest kiss right along the line of his stubble.

He's about to pull away when he hears Dean whisper into his ear, "I don't care how many of these chicks you got to kiss, don't forget that you're _mine_. You got that?"

Dean's words sound harsh and demanding, but there's something uncertain in his expression that makes Cas' heart clench up uncomfortably.

So he offers the easiest comfort he can think of. He looks at Dean and pointedly shakes his hips a little as he walks away. Whether Dean sees his boxers underneath the grass skirt is almost irrelevant, because he will certainly remember what _else_ is hidden.

There's a throaty laugh behind him.

Apparently he got the hint.


	11. Day Seven: Friday Evening

**AN:** So I decided to bring my tablet with me to write on the plane (three hours both ways... I would've died of boredom), so this update is a *little* sooner than expected. However, since I was writing almost exclusively with the swipe feature (ironically, it did not know the word 'swipe'), there are probably more errors than usual. Hopefully I got them all but I'm sure a couple slipped through.

Also, super frustrating to write like that... if I get going I can do over 100 words per minute, but definitely not on the tablet. Ugh. I only managed to get 2500 ish done for this story during travel, and as you can see, this chapter kinda went over that. And because these two *cannot* keep their hands off each other, there might be two more chapters? Both probably short, but distinct enough I'm going to separate them.

Alright so this chapter is kinda THE chapter in regards to this story. When I first saw the gift set that inspired this whole story, it was this basically just the one scene at the end. It kinda became a plot bunny that burrowed in my head and wouldn't go away.

BTW if you'd like to see the gif set (I totally recommend it, that shit is *hot*), you'll have to check it out from my tumblr (jhoomwrites) or my ao3 posting of this story (jhoom)

* * *

Castiel endures three more classes that day. Most of them are made entirely of freshman, who gape at him in his luau outfit. A few ask how the run through the quad was, trying to show off how 'in the know' they are about campus traditions while the others look on in curiosity. A couple girls in his math class even wave shyly at him and giggle, and he realizes a couple were among those he kissed earlier that afternoon.

And maybe they're a little disappointed when he meets their eyes and waves back without any blush coloring his cheeks. Unfortunately for them, he's spoken for.

Sorta.

Maybe.

Well... he's not interested at any rate.

By the time he gets back to his room in the late afternoon, he knows damn well it's not lingering embarrassment that has him edgy and snapping at his roommate as soon as he gets in the door.

"Nice skirt."

"Shut the fuck up," he growls and immediately realizes how dickish that sounds. "Fuck, I'm sorry-"

"Nah dude, I'd probably be a little pissy, too, if I'd had to wear that all day."

He takes the out and starts changing. And yeah, it's surprisingly difficult to put on a pair of pants when you have a butt plug up your ass. There's a party at the frat house tonight to celebrate them surviving pledge week. It's not _technically_ over yet and they're not officially _in_ , but fuck if the boys don't look for any excuse to drink and let loose.

There were no instructions given to the pledges about tonight, only a vague expectation that they come ready to drink, so Castiel opts for comfort. A well worn pair of jeans and a hoodie over his favorite shirt. He's momentarily tempted to wear something nicer, maybe khakis or a button down shirt, but it would be too much. Whatever else this might be, it isn't a date.

(Though the plug might suggest otherwise, he supposes. He locks himself in the bathroom with the lube, carefully works the plug out and adds more. Plays with it for a few strokes because he honestly can't help it, and later when he's hard again, he wishes maybe he hadn't bothered.)

He meets up with Kevin and Alex, one of the other pledges from their group. The whole walk over, Kevin and Alex try to top each other's stories of mortification from after the quad run. Although Alex was stuck in a g-string over his briefs and a rather busty pump up bra, complete with water balloons, Kevin wasn't able to get back to his dorm to change out of his five inch heels and ill fitting lingerie.

"I didn't either," Cas points out.

The two scoff at him, both agreeing his outfit wasn't nearly as embarrassing as theirs and therefore he's not even in contention for worst day. Castiel quietly concedes and lets them continue arguing.

Arrival at the frat house ends the discussion, and it's determined a draw (Cas refuses to act as tie breaker, citing mock annoyance that they'd counted him out of the running). They're ushered through the living room and into the back almost immediately, a couple frat brothers jeeringly wishing them good luck.

"I thought all the hard stuff was done," Kevin grouses.

"That's what she said."

Kevin gaps at Alex as though he has a second head.

The backyard is flooded in soft light from decorative strings of holiday lights. From obnoxiously bright red and green to vibrant orange Halloween and a few multi-colored, blinking monstrosities thrown in for good measure, every corner of the yard is covered. The sun's peeks out from the edge of the skyline, but there's no doubt how beautiful the scene will be once it's dark.

Three long tables are set up for beer pong, a couple boys already playing. Some kegs sit nearby, surrounded by coolers and a game of corn hole already in progress. On the far side of the yard are some couches and lawn chairs, all angled towards a large screen. A projector plays _Rocky_ and the sound system blares out the training montage.

The three of them are left speechless. It must have taken hours to set all this up and, unlike the other activities this week, none of the pledges were involved in the prep work. No, this is something the brothers did _for_ them, something to show that they're (almost) brothers too.

"Boys!"

Cas and Kevin both jump a bit when an arm slides around their shoulders. They relax when they recognize that it's Dean. He winks at Alex as he leads them over to one of the beer pong tables. His arm almost immediately slips from Kevin's shoulder once they start moving, but the one on Cas stays. If anything, it pulls him in a little tighter.

It's difficult to concentrate on what Dean's saying, only belatedly noticing he's even speaking because the warmth of Dean's body is slowly setting him on fire.

"There's an informal beer pong tournament going on. Pledges versus brothers. Just for bragging rights - and not to toot my own horn, but me and Benny have won the last two years - and I took it upon myself to enter you two as a team. Tater Tot, I put you with The Weagle."

"That's Matt, right?" He waits for Kevin's confirming eye roll. "Cool, I'm gonna go find him." And with a wave he's gone.

"I don't drink," Kevin deadpans, but there's the hint of worry behind it.

"Then you better win," Dean offers sagely.

Cas shrugs (Dean's arm is still a pleasant weight on his shoulders). "It's okay, I do. I can drink for both of us."

"You sure? I don't want to force you to get drunk..."

"It's just PBR and Miller, none of the heavy stuff." But even as he casually dismisses Kevin's concern, Dean looks to Castiel in question.

"I should be good for a couple games. Not enough to win a tournament or anything-"

"Don't worry, it's not nearly that formal. Just challenge whoever the fuck you want until you've had enough. It's more of a win as many as you can kinda championship title, and we won last year with six outta our eight games but it's not like you gotta play that many."

Kevin chokes a bit. "Eight games? Dude, how much did you drink?"

"I said we won, didn't I? Only had about four beers each." Fuck it's adorable how proud Dean sounds about it.

"Then we challenge you first."

"Atta boy," Dean beams at Cas and pats his back. His fingers linger and press gently, leaving him bereft of Dean's touch when he pulls away to find Benny.

Cas and Kevin go claim a table and start filling the red cups on their side.

"I don't care if you're trying to get in his pants, I still wanna win." It's half teasing, half serious. If Cas had to guess, he'd say it's _slightly_ more on the serious end.

Without missing a beat, Cas laughs and replies, "Well lucky for you I've already _been_ in his pants." _God, I'm still in his boxers, for fuck's sake..._ "I'm here to win."

A vein in Kevin's forehead looks like it's about to burst and he's dangerously pale. Before his mouth catches up to his brain, Dean and Benny show up. Kevin can't seem to meet Dean's eyes as he explains the rules. He doesn't fully recover until his first turn to throw.

(Dean must notice something is off, because he raises an eyebrow and points his head toward Kevin. Cas shrugs dramatically and winks.)

Earlier he lamented not getting to shadow Dean through his classes today. Now he realizes that it's probably for the best. The air between them is electric, a storm just waiting to break loose. The scant distance of the table isn't nearly enough to diffuse the mounting tension. If they'd seen each other after free hour, he's convinced they'd never have been able to focus. Hell, they probably would've ended up in some broom closet, rutting against each other til they came in their pants.

While not exactly an unappealing prospect, Castiel is much more excited to find out what Dean has planned.

Dean is just as affected as Castiel. Despite his earlier bragging, he fails to make a single shot. Benny gives him shit for it but gets four in a row. Kevin's an okay shot but he doesn't really understand the game, trying a bounce that Dean easily swats away. Cas is almost as much of a mess, but he manages to sink two before Benny wins it single handedly.

They shake hands but then Benny and Dean are pulled into another game. Cas runs into Chuck and Aaron and challenges them just for the distraction. Sneaking glances at Dean two tables over doesn't stop him from playing significantly better. Too bad Chuck is unreasonably good - every turn he makes one in.

Kevin narrows his eyes at them when the last ball goes in. "How the hell are Benny and Dean champs if you play like that?"

"I was just lucky." Chuck's so blasé about it that he might actually believe that.

"Nah," Aaron says while squeezing Chuck's shoulders and shaking him a bit. "He's a natural. Fucking God of Beer Pong right here. Dude just doesn't ever play. Likes to hustle at the other frats so he keeps it on the DL."

Chuck wrinkles his nose. "Aaron?"

"Yeah?"

"Never say DL again, you're not cool enough to pull it off."

"Fuck you, Chuck. I'm plenty cool enough." He turns to the pledges for support.

"I think we're gonna... go..."

"Watch the movie?"

"Yes."

They hear Chuck's fond laughter behind them.

They really do go watch the movie. It's _300_ \- the broiest movie to ever bro - and although Cas isn't a fan, he's buzzed to the point where he can enjoy the ridiculous drops to slow motion. And appreciate the half naked men. Fuck, he doesn't even remember Michael Fassbender being in this movie but _damn_. The alcohol moves through his veins, keeping him relaxed and numbing his discomfort from the plug he's been wearing all day. Soon he's feeling flushed and loses his hoodie, using it as a cushion for his back.

The movie and Kevin's commentary about the historical accuracy (spoiler: it's not) keep his mind from Dean more often than not. Alfie and some other pledges he's made friends with join them, all with fresh beers (Alfie confides - and rather loudly at that - his intention to get drunk for the first time tonight, his words already slurring at the ends and his rosy cheeks bright with pride).

They give Kevin and him shit for not having a beer. Cas tries to deflect by saying they played beer pong but their nagging gets louder and rowdier until he finally relents. He gives an exaggerated huff of annoyance and gets up to grab a drink. His spot is almost immediately taken over, leading him to suspect that was part of the motivation to begin with.

The walk over to the coolers does show him just how much of his sobriety he's regained during the movie. Maybe he could use another drink.

He's popped open a can, condensation already soaking his hand and dripping onto his shoes, when a heavy hand grabs him.

"Castiel." He turns to see Benny pulling him away from the crowd. Taking the beer out of his hand and stealing a swig, Benny drags him up the porch steps and gives him a friendly push inside. "We're outta cups, there are extras in the pantry. Mind bringing some out?"

"Sure." And maybe it's a little naive of him not to be suspicious at that point, but he is genuinely not expecting to be yanked into the living room and thrown against a wall. The sudden movement has his ass clenching around the plug and he can't decide if it's in a painful or pleasant way. His surprised yelp is quickly muffled by a firm hand and beautiful green eyes greet his.

"Pretty Boy, you gonna be quiet for me if I move my hand?" He nods but Dean tsks and gives him a skeptical look. "You promise? No matter what happens you'll keep it down for me?"

Again he nods, this time trying to convey his agreement with his eyes. Dean must like what he sees, because he removes his hand and takes a half step back. He's still crowding into his space, but there's at least the semblance of giving him room.

"So," and he slips his hands around Cas' waist, dips them under the waistband of his jeans to massage the globes of his ass. Cas squirms a little but doesn't protest. If anything, he leans into it. "What do you think is going to happen tonight, Castiel?"

He shudders at hearing his full name. It sounds fucking beautiful coming out of Dean's mouth like that, the huskiness of his voice undercutting the formality of it. "Whatever you want to happen, sir." And fuck if he doesn't mean it.

"Now ain't that the truth," Dean laughs. His fingers now invade his boxers, trail down the crease of his ass to trace along the end of the plug before pushing it in roughly. Cas gasps and nearly falls into Dean. "But that's not what I asked." He stops pushing but his fingers rest there, moving back and forth in warning. The residual pressure makes Cas grow hard as he tries not to buck backward. "I asked, what do you think is going to happen tonight?"

Cas bites his lip and goes through the possibilities. Dean watches patiently, stroking Cas' ass with one hand and gently playing at the edges of the plug with the other. In the end, Cas just goes with what he desperately _wants_ to happen.

"You're... you're hung to bend me in half and fuck me as hard as you can. Hold me down so you can use me and fill me with your come until it's dripping down my legs." He swallows thickly as he imagines it, hopes it's even half true.

"Wow, Cas, dirty mouth you got there. But I like the way you think. Would you like all that? Is that what you've been looking forward to all day?"

 _All week,_ but he holds onto that thought. "Yes, sir, please. Want you in me so bad, need you to fuck me."

Normally he'd be embarrassed to voice any of those desires, but Dean's pleased smiles and easy acceptance make him _want_ to say it all, to spell out every detail.

"Such a good boy, so easy for me aren't you? Alright, let's get you out of these clothes."

"Here?" Despite his best effort, some of his anxiety leaks through. The sounds of the party are muffled but ever present in the background. The little bubble they have surrounding them is nice, comforting even, but it's one that could burst at any moment.

"Hey hey hey," Dean shushes, a hand appearing to cradle his cheek. "I got Benny and Victor running interference. I mean, it's not like they _know_ what we're doing in here, but they're gonna keep people outta the house for a bit. But, uh, if you'd rather go upstairs-"

His cheeks flame bright red, though mostly because _his_ imagination is trying to supply the images that Benny's and Victor's imaginations must be painting. But he trusts Dean, and therefore he's willing to trust Benny and Victor.

"It's fine, sir." As soon as the words are out, Dean visibly relaxes. Cas has no doubt that Dean would've been true to his word and gone upstairs if he'd asked, but there's something about _this_ room, _this_ situation that he's built that he clearly wants. "I'm yours to do with as you'd like, wherever you'd like."

Dean groans and leans his head against Cas' shoulder, right by his neck. His lips brush against his collarbone as he whispers, "You're fucking amazing, you know that?"

The moment of vulnerability passes and when Dean straightens back up, his cocky grin lets Castiel knows they're moving on. Dean gives the plug one last nudge before removing his hand and walking over to the nearest armchair, adjusting himself in his pants after he takes a seat and completely melts into the chair.

He motions Cas over. "Strip for me."

"Yes, sir." It goes against his instincts, his own burning desire, to do this slowly, but he wants to do a good job. So he sets an agonizing pace, pulling up his shirt inch by inch, passes his fingers greedily over his nipples and enjoying the way Dean's eyes darken at the sight. He turns around to give a better view of his back flexing when he finally pulls it off, glancing over his shoulder shyly as he throws it to the side.

Cas undoes his belt buckle as he moves to face Dean again. He pops open the top button and starts to pull down the zipper. Dean's hand moves up to stroke himself through his jeans. Eyes never leaving Cas' hands, Dean watches him toe off his shoes and then pull off his pants, this time giving him a profile view so he can see both Cas' hard cock and the swell of his ass.

As soon as the pants are gone, Dean's hands are on him. "You are always wearing my boxers from now on," he growls, pulling him toward his lap. Cas nearly loses his balance but Dean guides him so that he's straddling his hips. Dean digs in his hands and thrusts up aggressively. It brings their cocks into brief contact, but the layers in between them obscure the otherwise delightful way they brush together.

They grind against each other for a few minutes. Dean's heavy panting sets the tempo for their movements. Cas does his best to keep steady but eventually just gives in to Dean, who seems more than happy to have full control. Dean mouths at his neck, along his jawline, lips ghosting over his chest but never doing more than tease at a kiss or a bite.

The pressure in his lower gut keeps building, nudging him towards the inevitable end, until Dean tightens his grip and forces them to stop. "Get up and bend over that table for me."

Cas' ass tightens around the plug, both because of the movement necessary to get off of Dean and at the anticipation of finally _finally_ getting fucked. He does as he's told, going over to the table in the connected dining room, finding the only spot clear of books and empty beer bottles. It takes a second to settle in, but then he bends over, chest flat against the cold wood.

He hears Dean get up and move around. There's the heat of someone behind him, then the boxers he's wearing are pulled down just enough to expose the end of the plug. Dean doesn't even let his poor dick free, tenting the front obscenely and adding pressure as the elastic pulls down against him. He hisses out a breath as he feels Dean's hand on the plug, no longer content with pushing because now he pulls it out part way.

There's the sound of a plastic opening and then lube. The coldness hits his rim as Dean nimbly applies it to the plug before it's abruptly pushed back in. Dean hums appreciatively as he slips it a couple inches out. Cas' back arches slightly and he angles himself back towards Dean's hand, seeking more.

"You like that, Pretty Boy?"

"Yes!" he moans and there's a warning slap on his thigh.

"I told you, you gotta stay quiet. You can't stay quiet, I'm gonna have to stop. You want me to stop?"

"No-" He has to stop and try to get some semblance of control. "No, sir, please. Please keep going, I'll be good."

"I know you will be."

The plug gets pushed back in and this time Cas manages to do more a quiet "Oh!" of surprise. Dean keeps working him open with the plug, in and out and the occasional vulgar squelch of lube being added. It's a test, to make sure he can keep his word and not attract attention. It must be, because he's amply prepped, he _knows_ he's ready and will probably collapse in a begging mess if he has to wait much longer and _fuck_ he's-

"Been dreaming of fucking you over this table since I first saw you in here." Cas swallows and nods, not trusting his voice enough for words. "You ready for me?"

Nodding doesn't work this time. Dean ignores him and keeps the plug at an unfulfilling distance - only so that it breaches him, no girth to give him the stretch he craves. "Use your words, Cas. You ready for me to fuck you yet, or you want me to keep playing with you?"

Cas' mouth opens and closes uselessly a few times but nothing comes out. He whines in frustration, has to focus to actually speak. "Yes, sir. I'm- I'm ready, _please_ -"

"Please what, Cas?"

" _Please_ fuck me, sir. Want- Want you-"

"Shhh," Dean hushes him. There's the sound of clothes coming off, pants dropping to the floor, and only then does Dean finally take mercy and fully remove the plug. Cas gasps and feels his rim clench around nothing. There's no time to mourn the loss, though, because now Dean's pressing the head of his cock at his entrance. He doesn't do more than that, though. He holds himself there while another arm comes up to firmly hold him by the back of his neck. "Gonna take real good care of you, sweetheart."

The gentleness of the words is in such sharp contrast to the way Dean presses him into the table that Cas is reeling a bit when Dean starts to push in. Cas is open, ready, but Dean takes it slow. He imagines Dean starring as his cock disappears inside Cas, eyes hungry as they admire his earlier handiwork. Finally, after years or seconds or hours, Dean's flush against him and it's _amazing_.

"Feel so good, Cas." Dean whispers it as if he's in awe. "So good for me, fucking _perfect_."

The minute shift of Dean's hips is the only warning before Dean's moving. He's mercifully given a few shallow thrusts to adjust, but then Dean's hammering into him. The edges of the table are too far away for him to brace himself, but Dean continues to hold him in place as he thrusts in again and again.

"Wanted you since I saw you on the quad." Cas thinks back to earlier today, confused for a second until Dean keeps going. "Saw you signing up for the frat, wanted you so bad..." He punctuates each word with a thrust. "Most beautiful thing I've ever seen..." He shifts, pulls his hand away in favor of draping his body across Castiel's, scrapes his teeth across the back of his neck and nibbles at his ear as he whispers. "And you feel about a million times better than I imagined."

Cas can only moan. Dean's wanted him since that first day, has wanted him maybe as badly as he's wanted Dean. That's... oh fuck, that's great, that's-

"You feel so good inside me sir," he starts babbling, too far gone to care. "Wanted you to fuck me for so long. Saw you- oh! Saw you when I signed up... Only reason I joined..."

Dean doesn't reply, the only acknowledgement being the stutter of his hips and the brush of lips between his shoulder blades - the closest thing to a kiss yet.

They keep going and Cas is close, thinks maybe Dean is too, but all he has is the friction of Dean's boxers against him and the occasional brush against his prostate. It's surprisingly close to bringing him over the edge, but he's not _quite_ there.

"Sir," he begs. "Can I- Can you- Touch me, please, sir-"

Dean's laugh is barely more than a huff of air. "No fucking way." For a second there's brief contact as his balls are fondled but then it's gone. "You can only come from my cock. You got that? And if that's too hard for you, I want you to remember it's your fault. I let you jerk off earlier, so if you can't come for me now you got no one to blame but yourself."

There's a moment when his brain doesn't understand the information, where it needs to jump start and think it over before comprehension dawns on him. " _Sir_ -" He contemplates begging, _pleading_ with Dean to jerk him off, but he knows better. Hell, he knew when he called this morning that interfering with Dean's plans might be disastrous for him. "Yes, sir. I can- I can come on your cock."

"Good boy." He then nudges Cas' legs farther apart, forcing the boxers to strain more around the leaking head of his cock, and lifts his hips up. He keeps his pace but experiments with a few angles before finding just the right position to nail Cas' prostate over and over again.

"Fuck!" Cas whimpers, wants to pull away because it's _too much_ but also wanting to thrust back because he needs _more_. He thrusts uselessly against the thin cotton of the boxers as he desperately seeks any kind of friction. So close, so _close_ -

"Come for me, Cas."

He shudders and does a moment later, come soaking the boxers and a low, guttural sound is ripped from him. Cas doesn't realize how loud he is until he notices Dean's hand over his mouth, whispered praises urging him to be quiet.

"Like my cock so much, don't you baby? Shh, don't worry, I'm here."

Cas sighs happily, his body relaxing fully as Dean continues fucking into him with abandon. Soon Dean's pulsing inside of him, his rhythm finally breaking as he collapses on top of Castiel. Dean might say something when he comes, but it's a strangled cry that Cas doesn't have the energy or mental capacity to decipher.

The afterglow keeps the discomfort at bay for a while, but soon it can't protect him from the solid weight of the young man on top of him.

"G'off," he grunts, a bit too boneless to do more than squirm a bit. "Heavy."

There's a fond chuckle but Dean complies. The sudden change forces Dean's softening cock out, a trail of come leaking from Cas' hole.

"Oh no you don't." He hears Dean shift behind him, lean down and breathe against his skin. Then he nearly cries out in surprised pleasure as he feels Dean's finger push the trail of come back up to his rim, his other hand holding his entrance open as he forces it back inside. "All that's for you, Cas. Don't want you wasting it." The blunt end of the plug is back, nudging its way past the tightened muscle and right where Dean found it earlier. "Can't have you forgetting you're mine."

"No, sir," Cas agrees.

"Mmmm." Dean nips at his inner thighs, then pulls the boxers up into place. He snakes an arm around and gives Cas' soft cock a quick squeeze, the over stimulation earning him a shrill yelp. He carefully pulls Cas off the table, fits his cock into the crease of Cas' ass, right up against the butt of the plug. "So good. Did such a good job," he says right into Cas' ear, nipping at his earlobe and then stepping away.

Cas is stiff and no doubt bruised where Dean manhandled him, his ass is already sore and will definitely be worse tomorrow, and his lower back aching from being pressed into the table. Oh, and he feels _incredible_. He rejoices in it, in each individual reminder of Dean fucking him raw.

Wordlessly, Dean hands him back his shirt and pants. Cas can feel his come drying inside the boxers, and he doesn't exactly relish the idea of putting something on over them. Dean grabs his hand to stop him. "I, uh... I've got some fresh pairs upstairs, if you want."

"That would be... Yes, I think I'd like that, thank you." When he tries to head towards the stairs, Dean's hold on his hand tightens a bit. Cas raises an eyebrow in question but patiently waits.

"Sorry." He lets go, rubs a hand through his hair sheepishly. "Just thought about you being half naked and covered in come in my room. Kinda does things to me."

"I've already been half naked and covered in come in your room, Dean."

"Yeah," and Dean's eyes meet his, "But this time you've got my come _in you_ , too."

Cas can't help but laugh, eyes pinched in a huge smile. "You're a bit possessive, aren't you?"

Dean shrugs. The whole thing screams nonchalant (except for the unspoken _something_ he chooses to pass over). "You go get dressed, I'll head outside. Meet me for a game of corn hole in a bit, 'kay?"

"You're on," he promises.

They linger some more, neither wanting to be the first to go, but then Cas shifts his weight and he remembers the dried come clinging to him. He winces and tries to readjust, which only pulls at it and makes it worse.

Dean rolls his eyes and pushes him out of the room. "Go, I'll see you in a bit."

He very much means to hold Dean to that.

* * *

 **AN:** I should also point out that it's super irresponsible for Cas and Dean to be having sex and all this other stuff without condoms. Uncool, guys. I mean, *I* know that this Dean's only slept with three people and that this Cas has only slept with two. *I* know they're clean, but *they* don't and it kinda bothered me with this chapter in particular. I plan on addressing stuff like this when I do a sequel/continuation.

Which reminds me... this story is *almost* done. When I get around to doing a second installment (already sorta planned out), you'll want to be subscribed to the *Series* titled South Kansas University. Otherwise you won't get an update to anything after this story is completed.


	12. Day Seven: Friday Night

**AN:** Sorry for the delay - really wanted to get this chapter out sooner, but I've been working on another WIP the last couple days. I only plan on doing one more chapter after this one. I do have a couple later installments in the works (timeline TBA for them), so if you're interested in what Dean and Cas get up to after pledge week be sure to subscribe to the *series* South Kansas University.

These boys tho I swear - they can *not* keep their hands off each other omg.

* * *

There's no one upstairs, thankfully, and Castiel gets to Dean's room without incident. The bed's neatly made, everything on his desk is in order, and even the clothes in his drawers are neatly folded and organized by color. Apparently Dean's a bit of a neat freak. That's strangely endearing, actually.

Smiling to himself, it takes him two tries to find the drawer with boxers in it. He grabs a pair and sneaks off to the bathroom to clean up, tossing the old ones in the hamper. While he's in the bathroom, he should probably take the time to make sure he's halfway presentable, something he doesn't think about until he's back outside and forcing Samndriel out of his seat.

"Where'd you go, man?"

"What he fuck happened to your hair?"

"I uh-" Luckily he's saved from answering because right then Alex shows up and spills all three beers he was carrying. Alex grumbles but Alife is over enthusiastic in his eagerness to help him clean up and get more.

Beer in hand, Cas finds it easy to enjoy the evening. He rides a pleasant buzz, that thin line between tipsy and drunk, for the rest of the night. He plays beer pong with Kevin a few times. Kevin even relents and drinks half a beer. (He doesn't care for it.) They play corn hole and there's a small game of poker that quickly evolves into a large game of strip poker.

(Castiel doesn't participate in that last one. He's all too aware of how _incriminating_ the results might be if he did.)

It's a great night, the burn of the plug each time he moves makes it that much better.

All good things, though. The brothers discreetly start putting out more and more bottles of water, the beer disappearing. The beer pong tables get covered in food - salty or bland things, nothing sweet and nothing that wouldn't well in an alcohol-lined stomach. A few of the drunker pledges are paired up with some of the older brothers who force some fluids into them and walk them back to their dorms.

It's probably well into the morning at this point. Cas is starting to feel exhaustion pressing in at the corners of his awareness. The party's not technically over, it's just more muted, but he's at the point where he should consider leaving. He might not have classes tomorrow and could put off homework for a day, but he's pretty sure there are multiple things he'll be sleeping off in the morning.

Decision half-made, he thumbs the edges of his water bottle before getting up to make the trip back. He bumps into a couple of other pledges along the way, making small chat with everyone. The frat brothers also seem considerably more interested in being inclusive now that the thin line between them is disappearing. Aaron grabs him and pulls him into a heated discussion about the MCU, but the other boys in his group are very friendly and there's no distinction between pledge vs brother.

In that moment, he realizes he made a good choice by joining Sigma Sigma Beta. It's a great fit for him, with or without consideration of Dean, and he's sure he'll more than enjoy his time here. And something like relief washes through him. This isn't an impulsive mistake that's going to cost him. No, this is something that's going to make his college experience that much better.

Cas floats on that happy out thought until he's pulled aside by Dean.

"Sorry to interrupt, but I need Cas' help with something." Aaron and his friends roll their eyes dramatically but don't call him on his bullshit.

Dean walks him to the edge of the porch, out of earshot of anyone if they keep their voices down. "How you feeling?"

"Good."

"Not too drunk or anything-?"

"Huh? Oh, I thought you meant the other- Uh, no, I'm barely even buzzed anymore." He holds up his near empty water bottle for emphasis. "I'll probably walk off the rest of it on the way back to my dorm."

"Oh. Okay. Yeah, good. Good. That's... that's good."

Cas raises on eyebrow at the nervous babbling, such a stark contrast to Dean's earlier commanding tone.

"So I was just kinda wondering if you'd maybe like to... I mean, it's not a big deal if you don't want to. That'd be fine too. But uh, if you want to, you could like... stay here? With me. For the, uh, for the night."

Granted, he's only known Dean a week, but he's never seen him so flustered before. The blush burning a path from his eyebrows all the way down his neck draws attention to his freckles and the green of his eyes. It's down right adorable.

"Dean." Cas waits until he knows he has Dean's full attention. "I would love to stay the night."

"Oh, that's cool- Wait, really?" And somehow the blush glows brighter until it's overshadowed by Dean's grin. "Awesome."

Dean sends him up to his room but stays behind. He claims it's to help clean up, but he suspects it might be to not make a show of them leaving together. But when he crawls across Dean's bed to take a peak out the window, he does in fact see him carrying the tables and chairs into the house with Benny. Cas feels a touch guilty at having assumed Dean was lying ( _bending the truth_ , he corrects), but pushes it aside once he feels how damn _tired_ he is.

Exhaustion snuck up on him out of nowhere. He can't escape it now that he's noticed it. His eyes droop and he can't bring himself to stand back up and properly undress. With a grunt of annoyance, he pulls off his shoes and pants. He throws them away lazily without paying attention to where they land and then tries to get under the blanket. It's too difficult since he's still _on_ the bed, so after some fumbling he ends up pulling one the side draping off the bed up and over himself.

Nestled in a cocoon of warmth that smells wonderfully like Dean, he starts to nod off.

The first thing Castiel becomes aware of is goosebumps prickling on his legs in the cool air. But that's almost immediately followed by warm hands, massaging into the muscle of his left calf and then his right, then his thighs. He sighs in contentment, too asleep to do more than _appreciate_ what he feels.

His hips are nudged up a bit and the boxers are pulled down. He frowns slightly because he's supposed to be wearing them, isn't he? That's what Dean asked him to do. But he's shushed by a familiar voice.

"It's okay, Cas, gonna take care of you."

Cas hums approval and relaxes further, sighing into the touch easing his legs apart. There's pressure at his rim, faint pushing and pulling at the end of the plug ( _oh yes, the plug,_ his sleepy mind remembers) until it's being taken out so gently and slowly he can feel each inch go as it's pulled free. By then he's half hard and but only half awake.

"Dean," he gasps into the pillow, grasping at the blankets in an attempt to gain control of his heartbeat. He can feel the wet trail of come leaking out of him. As it escapes under Dean's watchful eye, Cas wonders if Dean will push it back in again. Keep him full until-

" _Dean_!" His yell is muffled by the pillow. He bucks hard into the bed as Dean's tongue trails up his ass to lick up the come. His tongue disappears for a second, only a second, before it's back to trace along his rim. Teasing at the muscle, a finger starts to push in, his tongue close behind. Cas moans, lets himself rut against the bedspread as Dean opens him back up.

"Tastes so good," Dean says between licks, pumps his tongue in and out a few more times, and adds, "Love the taste of my come in you." His finger and tongue work together, one going in while the other is pulled out, each driving in as deeply as Dean can get them. He moans enthusiastically against Cas' ass and the reverberations only intensify everything he feels.

"More," he whimpers. His lips are numb with grogginess, the lone word slurring more than it should, but Dean gets the message.

He keeps working in and out, adding a second finger once there's enough spit to slick the way. Cas encourages him with each embarrassingly obscene sound Dean coaxes out of him. His mind grasps at an idea that he should be quiet (that he'd promised to be quiet earlier, right?), but it slips away almost as quickly as it occurs to him. Things are just _too good_ and _fuck_ is that a third finger?

"So so good, Dean..." With each movement of Dean's hand, Cas' hips echo it with a thrust into the bed. But then the fingers are gone, pulled out suddenly and leaving him so _empty_. Cas whines, pushes his ass backward to try and chase Dean's hand, but strong hands keep him in place.

"Can I fuck you again?" His tongue goes back to work on his rim, pushing inside and curling on its way back out. "Can I fill you up again? Please, I'll-"

"Yes," he gasps. "Yes, _fuck_ , of course-"

Dean doesn't waste any time. He kisses the small of Cas' back as goes to reach into his nightstand and pull out a bottle of lube. The maneuver brings his dick over length of Cas' crack. Which is of course when Castiel learns that Dean's already naked.

"Oh _god_ how are you so perfect," he mumbles as Dean repositions himself.

"You're crazy." Dean starts the slow push in, the way eased by lube and spit and the handiwork of his skilled fingers. When he bottoms out, flush against Cas' back, he whispers, "You're the one who's so fucking _perfect_."

Castiel's more embarrassed by that than anything else, shies away from the compliment in his lingering drowsiness. He's not given time to protest, however. No, Dean starts thrusting shallowly. It only lasts a few strokes before he seems to get frustrated with the position.

"Up," he urges. Cas lets Dean lift his hips, move them both so he can handle Cas' weight, and then he's moving again. "Better?"

Honestly he didn't notice that anything was lacking. Now, though, Dean's cock moves easily. "Mmmm," he sighs out. "Much."

The pace isn't as frantic as it was the first time. There's some urgency, but it's more about that moment instead of releasing a week's worth of tension. Cas simply _enjoys_ the act and the closeness. There's an underlying intimacy to the sex they're having now. Something hidden unspoken just below the surface. But he pushes the idea aside and renews his focus on _now_.

"Can I- Can I jerk you off?"

The request almost has him laughing. It's about a hundred fold more innocent than half the things they've done. But Dean's serious, he can hear that much, so he holds back his amusement. "Please."

Dean takes the time to drag a hand up Cas' thigh. Snakes it around his waist slowly but with purpose. Brushes down the crease where his leg meets his body, stops to run Cas' balls through his fingers and stroke the perineum. Stops to tease at his entrance like he's going to stretch him more, even as he continues to thrust into him. All of this before he traces his fingers up the vein of Cas' dick and settles his fist around it.

"Gonna make you come, okay?" He starts stroking. The first few times are slow, _too_ slow to move him any closer to finishing, but he gradually speeds up. Dean moves almost in time with his own dick, though the rhythm never quite evens out.

It wouldn't be hard for Cas to help, to thrust himself backward onto Dean and then forward into his hand, but he indulges in the way Dean's taking care of him. He instead puts his energy into whispered encouragements and barely contained moans of delight. Soon, _too_ soon, he's hissing as he comes for the third time that day. It stings a bit, deep in his balls, but the pleasure of orgasm whites out everything else.

He starts to come back to himself just as Dean starts fucking him in earnest.

"Come, Dean. Please."

"Oh _fuck_ ," he curses. "Jesus fucking hell- My name, Cas. Say it again-"

" _Dean_. Come in me, Dean."

"Yes, fuck _yes_ \- Cas-"

Cas feels it, feels Dean pulsing inside of him. They stay like that for a while as Dean's breathing calms down. He pulls out and Cas can hear the wince in his grunt.

"Lemme clean you up." With surprising care, Dean takes care of everything. Gets the wet blanket out from under him and replaces it with a clean one. Then pulls on boxers (the ones Cas was wearing a few minutes ago, if he's not mistaken), disappears and reappears with a warm wash cloth. Soothes his aching hole with it while he wipes away the mess.

Fucked out and thoroughly spent, Cas feels his body sinking deeper and deeper into the bed. He's loose and pliable by the time Dean crawls in next to him, snuggles around him so he doesn't have to move. It's... nice. Really really nice.

"Night, Cas."

"G'night, Dean."

As he drifts off, he wonders what the hell he's gotten himself into.

* * *

 **AN:** I honestly can't remember if Cas has used Dean's name while they're having sex (too tired to check atm - wasn't planning on staying up this late but wanted to get this done). Hopefully the overall intimacy of the situation was clear though :)


	13. Day Eight: Saturday

**AN:** Guys, this is it. This is the last chapter. I'm super stoked I made it this far and also extremely surprised it took this long. Honestly, my original intention was for a oneshot. And then I realized I wanted a bit more of the hazing stuff and was like man, I should probably make this two chapters. And then what always happens happens and we're like 40,000 words later. Whoops?

This was actually a hard chapter to write because, well, sex is easy, but emotions? Ick. That's tricky, and so is wrapping up everything in a satisfying way. So I really meant to get this chapter out earlier, but had delays trying to piece it all together.

Anyway, thanks to everyone who read and reviewed, for those of you who gave suggestions about different ways the boys could be hazed (I'm very disappointed I couldn't incorporate more of them, tbh), and for those of you who somehow tricked me into agreeing to continue this verse. I'm still a bit confused on how that happened, but I've got like two or three later installments sorta planned. New installments are tentatively called "Date Night," "Sophomore Slump," and there's a third yet to be named one.

Also, apologies that I didn't get to run through this last chapter for errors, typos, etc - I have to leave in like five minutes for a game and I've got a rowdy ten month old crawling into my lap.

* * *

Castiel didn't realize how poorly he'd been sleeping this past week until he wakes up fully rested Saturday morning. There's not an ounce of tension is his body. No cricks in his neck, no stiffness in his muscles. Just the type of sleepy comfort that makes you want to curl into the blankets and sleep all day.

Part of him knows that he'll certainly feel some _discomfort_ when he starts moving. His own limited experiences with sex and dildos may have helped last night, but there's no way he won't be feeling the after effects today. But that's a problem for later. Right now he's simply enjoying that half-awake half-asleep state that's better than being buzzed.

As he wakes up more and more, he becomes aware of the warm body tangled with his own. His own legs are sleep heavy, pinned down and wrapped around another pair. One arm is thrown over Dean's waist while the other is pressed against his chest. Numb fingers twitch and graze the chest hair there. His face is buried in the crook of Dean's neck, each inhale bringing in his scent. Dean has an arm draped over his shoulders, the hand sneaking up to cradle the back of his head and fingers woven through his hair.

Cas has never slept next to someone like this, so intertwined that he can barely tell who's who, and it gives him a little pang to realize how much he likes this. He likes Dean. A lot. More than just for the sex stuff. And maybe Dean would be interested in... Well, who knows?

Aaron's warning sits uncomfortably in his gut, that Dean's not out yet and is hiding what they're doing because of it. He doesn't like the idea of being his dirty little secret or another gay experiment, hates the idea that Dean might be ashamed of what's going on between them. And okay, maybe Castiel hasn't given up on the idea of a _relationship_ with Dean. So it would sting pretty bad if Dean's not out, because that would kill the chances of _that_ happening.

His body has tensed up as he thinks about it. Dean's unconscious form reacts to the stiffness and rolls onto his back. Limbs no longer wound together, Cas gets up enough to rest his head in his hand. He watches Dean yawn and blink a few times before giving him a lop-sided grin made even more adorable as he rubs the sleep out of his eyes.

"Heya Cas."

And determined though he might have been not to ruin the mood, the first thing out of his mouth is, "Dean, are you out?"

"Huh?" His squints in a mix of general confusion and grogginess. "Outta what?"

Cas rolls his eyes. "The closet."

"Whadda mean?" He yawns a jaw popping kind of yawn and stretches a bit. He looks at Cas and he can pinpoint the exact second when the question clicks. "Out of the closet- Uh, yeah? I mean, I don't go around broadcasting it or anything, but I've told my family I'm bi. And I'm, like, pretty sure Benny and Aaron and Victor and a bunch of the other brothers know. Why?" He frowns, expression tightening ever so slightly. "Are you?"

"Me? Yeah, I've been out since I kissed my neighbor during our choir recital in the fifth grade." Maybe it should've embarrassed him more to have kissed Balthazar on stage in front of the whole school and their families, but honestly at the time all he could think of was how beautiful his voice sounded (and how nice his lips looked).

"That-" Dean laughs and grins at him. "That sounds pretty fucking cute, actually."

If Dean's friends and family know he's into guys, then... there's a chance, right? They could-

His mouth starts running away with him in excitement. "So, Dean would you like to-"

There are two loud knocks on the door and then it's swung open before either can reply. "Winchester! Oh, hi, Castiel. Sorry didn't mean to uh... interrupt." Victor didn't actually look particulary sorry or surprised to find Dean and Castiel naked in bed together, but he gave a placating smile. "We need a ride to pick up the stuff for the ceremony."

"Now? This can't wait?"

"The place closes at noon on the weekend, so unless you're gonna let one of us drive your car-"

"Stay the fuck away from my car. I'll be down in five."

"Make it fifteen. Take a shower, you smell like sex." And then Victor's gone, door closed behind him. Two seconds later, the door reopens. Victor reaches in and jiggles the door knob on the inside, confirming that it's locked. Or well, supposed to be. "Dude, fix this shit. What if I'd walked in on something?"

"That's why you're supposed to fucking _wait_ after you knock, you dick!"

But Victor has already disappeared again, door closing behind him.

"Dammit, I gotta- fuck." Dean jumps out of the bed and scrambles around for some clothes. "I gotta go."

Cas sighs, resigned to putting off this talk until later. Hopefully. "It's alright, Dean. I'll see you this afternoon."

"Course. Wouldn't miss you gettin officially inducted." There's something playful about the way he says it that makes Cas' heart sing. Dean grabs a towel and looks at him, still wrapped up in his blankets and leaning against the head board. "I'd invite you to shower with me, but apparently I'm on a time crunch and I'm pretty sure you and me showering together is an hour long event." He wiggles his eyebrows and Cas can't help but chuckle at the enthusiasm.

"Rain check, then."

"I'm gonna hold you to that, Cas. Don't make promises you can't keep."

"No, sir," he teases. A hard look crosses Dean's face, his entire countenance affected by it.

"Right." And the playfulness is gone, completely evaporated. "I'll uh, I guess I'll see you this afternoon."

Castiel is left flustered and a bit confused once Dean slips out of the room. That was strange, right? With a sigh, he leaves the security of the blankets and starts poking around for something to wear. He does a full body stretch before getting dressed, taking stock of each ache and pain. There's ibuprofen waiting for him in his dorm room (honestly, there's probably some here, but he doesn't want to root through Dean's stuff and he has this strange feeling he's overstayed his welcome), so once he looks half decent he's out of there.

The sound of the shower turns off just as Cas passes by the bathroom. His steps falter for a second - how could they not, knowing Dean is _naked_ and _wet_ just a few feet away? - but he keeps going. It's his first walk of shame, and he's determined not to actually _feel_ ashamed. Even if Crowley spots him making his escape down the stairs and gives him a salacious wink accompanied by a rude hand gesture.

His roommate takes one look at him when he walks in and breaks out in a shit eating grin. "Somebody got lucky last night."

He plays with the idea of denying it, but it's useless. "What gave it away?" he sighs, shoulders slumped in defeat.

"Uh, I don't know? The sex hair? The clothes you wore yesterday? The stench of sex all over you? The way you're walking? Take your pick, man."

Cas grumbles out something unintelligible as he grabs some clean clothes and goes to take a shower. Once the hot water hits him and he gives into the heat, he feels all the tension he's carried with him from the frat house. He's wound up like a cord about to snap at any moment and he's not sure what to do about it.

He'd been willing to take the chance and ask Dean out, but then he'd gone all cold and it's thrown him off. Pledge week is over, technically. Maybe Dean always assumed this was a one week deal, remembered what day it was, and is slowly making his retreat. Which would suck, but for the millionth time Castiel reiterates that he's fine with it. He's been planning on that eventuality from the beginning.

The water goes cold before he actually manages to convince himself he's okay with it.

He fills the empty time between now and his next stop by the frat house with homework. He's a bit on edge, so he ignores the more tedious assignments and jumps into the assigned novel for his English class. It's pretty good, far off the beaten path of standard literary texts one comes to expect in intro college classes, and for that he's grateful. Enthralled in Janie Crawford's life, he barely notices the time pass.

A notification on his phone tells him he needs to start getting ready. Annoyed (and okay, a bit worried), he puts the book aside and starts getting ready.

There's a ceremony at the frat house later to officially welcome them as full members of Sigma Sigma Beta. Assuming their pledge brother vouches for them. It's a formality, at least that's what he's been told, and very few pledges are ever turned away. In fact, they should've already talked to anyone they felt wouldn't fit in (something Castiel had initially worried about, but it's been days since he's considered the possibility he wouldn't be inducted into the fraternity).

It's not a formal event or anything, but he's got a suspicion that even if suit and tie aren't required, the expectation is for them to dress up a little. With that in mind, Cas takes the time to pick out a nice button down shirt (the one his mother says brings out his eyes) and his best pair of khakis. He even goes so far as to forego his boat shoes for shoes with actual laces. Puts on a pair of socks and everything. Hell, his belt even matches his shoes.

And yeah, if he'd walked downstairs at his house dressed like this, Gabriel would've given him shit for it. Castiel is by no means a slob - hell, he's been known to wear nice button ups to school on numerous occasions - but the whole ensemble is just a _tad_ too put together. He can see his brother eyeing him suspiciously and demanding to know the name of the whoever it is that got his baby bro to look presentable for once.

His roommate doesn't know him that well, though. Just gives him a thumbs up of approval when he asks how he looks. "If I were gay, I'd totally bang you."

Cas' cheeks color slightly but he shrugs indifferently. "Well, that's not exactly what I was going for-"

"If I were gay, I'd totally date you." Inias sounds completely sincere as he says it, which somehow makes it worse.

Cas doesn't comment on how spot on that is. Instead he puts on a fake smile and waves good-bye.

It's that transition between late afternoon and early evening when he arrives. There are some people mulling about the front yard, mostly other pledges (equally dressed up, Castiel notices with relief) but a few strangers. He's halfway across the lawn to talk to Kevin and Jamie when a red-head steps in his path.

"Castiel, right?"

"Yeah- Oh, I remember you from Thursday."

"Charlie." She offers him her hand, then shakes his enthusiastically. "And yeah, I was here with my roomie Jo to watch you fine young men prove your masculinity by wrestling in jello in nothing but your underpants."

He raises an eyebrow. "I thought it was more about embarrassing us and trying to strip us of our masculinity."

Charlie smiles brightly at him. "I can see why Dean likes you."

His heart beats erratically at hearing that, but for his own sanity he ignores the comment. "Are you hear for the induction...?"

"Yeppers. SKU sororities and frats have a governing body of students, i.e. the presidents of each Greek house. We have a code of conduct, do events together, negotiate turf wars if separate events interfere, blah blah blah. One of the duties is that we attend the initiations of _all_ new brothers and sisters. I am an honorary guest at the banquet you guys are throwing tonight."

He frowns at the way she says SKU. Instead of saying each letter S K U, she blends them together into a word that sounds strangely French. It takes him a minute to work past the strange pronunciation and pick up on what she's saying.

"Anything especially demeaning in store for us tonight?"

Charlie giggles and Cas is surprised by how infectious her amusement is. She punches him in the arm, "You wish! No, it's all prime and proper from here on out. Just some pageantry, boring ol' oaths in Greek that no one understands - except yours truly since I'm kind of a language geek - and getting pinned by the frat brothers. And not in the fun wrestling way. There is literally a pin that they give each of you guys. It's super dorky and kind of adorable because half these guys can't pin the damn things without poking themselves."

"Ah." And fuck, he _is_ marginally disappointed that the hazing stuff is over. That one final piece that guaranteed Dean's attention continues to slip away. He plays if off because he's not going to let his time in Sigma Sigma Beta be tainted by what if's. "So is this a classy type of cocktail party or will it devolve into the usual kegger?"

"Classy cocktail party with champagne and everything... that will gradually devolve into a kegger once they run out of wine. So you know, about an hour after you guys get your pins."

They chat for a little more, mostly about Sigma Sigma Beta and Charlie's Beta Zeta Gamma sorority. The hazing traditions at the sorority are both fiercer and tamer than the ones he's endured. Nothing about crossdressing or anything overtly sexual, but some seriously aggressive physical challenges that put the earlier boot camp and wrestling he endured to shame.

"If the guys weren't so fucking into proving how manly they are, they'd probably steer into the more interesting traditions we've pioneered. But decades of enforced hetereonormativity will do that to a bunch of guys living together in one house." She looks at him with a hint of challenge.

"I'm pan, by the way."

He'll never forget the way her eyes light up. "Oh my god, that's just too fucking perfect." Before he can ask what the hell _that's_ supposed to mean, she's nearly jumping up and down. "Gay. I mean, _I'm_ gay. You should come join the Gay Straight Alliance! Obviously any orientation is welcome, but we can only fit so many letters in the abbreviation. It's always great to have more guys from the fraternity show up. We're trying to create a culture of inclusion, and sure Sigma Sigma Beta's really good about it, but it'd be a good example for some of the other frats."

It takes another five minutes for her to talk him into it (really, he would've agreed immediately if she'd calmed down enough to let him get a word in - it was more he had to wait that long for her to calm down and let him get out a proper answer). By then there's a whistle blowing and all the soon to be new brothers are ushered inside and then out onto the back porch.

The lights from yesterday's party haven't been taken down yet (if anything, there might even be _more_ ). All the other party gear has been cleared out, replaced with round tables with pristine white table cloths and silverware laid out. There's an actual catering staff off to the side keeping trays of food warm. The back tables are filled with current members. There are a couple tables off to the side that are now being seated with the guests from other frats and sororities. The five remaining tables are empty, waiting no doubt for the five pledge groups to take over.

The ceremony isn't particularly long or arduous. It consists of Benny giving a speech, congratulating them on surviving Hell Week and talking about how they'll make fine new additions etc. etc. etc. Then they recite the fraternity's Greek oath (in Greek, just like Charlie warned). They no doubt butcher it, but at the end they receive some encouraging claps for making it through. Then Victor, Aaron, Dean, Crowley, and Gordon go up one at a time to pin their pledges and introduce them to the frat as new brothers.

Dean remains stoic throughout the whole thing, standing at attention to the side of the porch until it's his turn to fumble with the pins. His deft fingers have no problems with Jamie, Samandriel, Alex, Matthew, or Kevin. Castiel waits patiently at the end of the line, watches Dean pin the Greek letters to each boy's shirt, shake their hand while whispering something, and then move on. When he stands in front of Cas, he seems in control and it's no different than with the five other boys.

Until he looks up. They stare at each other long enough that he hears Kevin cough in warning. Dean nods, swallows thickly, and brings up trembling hands to do the pin. He ends up stabbing himself with the pointed end and dropping it. Hissing out a curse, he quickly picks it up and finishes attacking the damn thing before turning back to introduce them by name.

Throughout the week, Cas has thought there was nothing more adorable than a flustered Dean Winchester. Now, as he listens to thunderous applause and tries not to tear up as he panics.

 _Things are going to be awkward now. We can't be friends. He can't even stand to be near me, how could I have fucked up so badly? Fuckfuckfuckfuck-_

His internal downward spiral is put on hold as they move offstage. Dinner's served buffet style, most of the brothers racing to get in line. Servers come around with trays of wine (and he wonders vaguely how much they were bribed to look the other way at all these clearly underage kids drinking). No longer hungry, Cas grabs the first glass of wine he can get his hands on and shuffles away from the crowd.

He weighs the pros and cons of the previous week's decisions as he quietly broods in the shade of the solitary tree in the backyard.

 _Pro: Made a lot of new friends. Con: Not being able to be friends with Dean._

There's the sound of someone walking over, and he internally groans at having to deal with either Kevin or Charlie.

 _Pro: Best sex of his life. Con: Not being able to have be with Dean._

Too annoyed to fake being nice just yet, he's already got an excuse ready to go for whoever it might be. Cas finishes off his drink (no doubt the first of many tonight) and turns around to shoo them away.

 _Pro: Learned a lot about what he enjoys sexually. Con: Not sure if he likes those things by themselves or because of who they were with._

"Hey-"

"Look, I'm not-"

Dean freezes, looking almost pained, but starts to back away. "Sorry, I uh-"

"Wait!" Cas' hand darts forward and grabs the sleeve of Dean's polo. "Sorry, I... was expecting someone else."

Although he looks about two seconds from pulling away, Dean stays where he is. He licks his lips before asking, "Who?"

"Uh... anyone _but_ you?"

Dean frowns. "What?"

"I don't know, I just got the impression this morning that... You know what, never mind." He finally lets go of Dean's shirt, straightens it out and then drops his hand awkwardly.

"Okay." Dean kicks at he ground just to have something to do, somewhere to divert his eyes. "So uh, congrats."

"Thank you."

Castiel watches as the older boy continues to push around a tuft of grass he's knocked loose. And this is it. This is the awkwardness he knew was coming, that will continue to be the way their relationship goes from here on out. This is what a foundation of casual sex between near strangers gets you. Great chemistry that fizzles out once the sex is over.

He sighs in resignation and decides he should let Dean off the hook. Explain how it was fun and he appreciates it or whatever, but they don't have to force small talk or anything. "Listen, Dean-"

"Hey Cas," Dean interrupts. He finally looks up, steel in his gaze. Cas is a little taken aback, so much so that his jaw snaps shut and he allows Dean to continue. "Look, this week has been great. Like, really _really_ great."

"Dean, you don't have to-"

"Cas," he pleads, then goes back to his firm resolve to finish this speech. "I, uh, I didn't want to ask before cuz I guess I was worried you maybe were just into the... the sex stuff." Dean honest to god _blushes_ as he says the word sex like he's some kid in junior high. "But I, uh... I kinda like you. And not just for the sex stuff... which is great! I mean, I like that, it's not... fuck- I mean, I like _you_ , with or without the sex, and I was wondering if maybe you'd like to go out for dinner with me sometime." He pauses and coughs a bit, then adds, "On a date," as if it isn't already painfully clear.

Hot, check.

Nice, check.

Smart, check.

Likes me back, check and mate.

Cas doesn't mean to be cruel, to drag out the silence between Dean's babbled confession and his response, but he takes a second to replay the whole thing in his head. And maybe to subtly pinch his leg and bite the inside of his cheek to make sure he's not dreaming. The hope starts to drain from Dean's eyes, the way he physically and emotionally starts to close himself off.

"Sorry, that was stupid-"

"Dean."

He winces and stops trying to sneak away. He looks like a kicked puppy, but he holds his head up high.

"You free now?"

It takes a beat or two before Dean understands what Cas is asking. Then he's rushing to cross the few feet between them, throwing his arms around Cas to pull him in for a kiss. One quick, chaste little kiss and then he pulls away a few inches. "That okay?"

Cas practically growls as he lunges forward to kiss him again, nothing chaste about the way he devours Dean's mouth. They only break apart when they're interrupted by cheers of approval from the entire fraternity. They graciously wave and ignore the muttered agreement of "Finally" and "About damn time" and "Took all fucking week."

"Did _everyone_ know?" Dean sighs.

"Apparently." He leans forward to whisper in his ear. "So let's get out of here, yeah?"

"Fuck yeah."

* * *

 **AN:** This is a fashion PSA to remind everyone that you technically are not supposed to wear boat shoes with socks (that's why I made a point of saying Cas **actually** was wearing socks for once - that loser). If you do so, I will sit back and quietly judge you (although imo you get like a million bonus points for wearing point shoes in the first place so I generally let it slide lol).


End file.
